The First Horcrux
by magentasouth
Summary: <html><head></head>Tom Riddle began his quest for immortality much earlier than anyone suspected.  When Harry destroyed Tom Riddle's diary, little did he know that it was young Voldemort's second draft, so to speak.  The first horcrux remained hidden...</html>
1. Chapter 1

It was, in retrospect, an ill conceived plan.

He had needed to know it would work; his opus magna; his great ploy to cheat death, should he fail in his future endeavours and somehow be killed.  
>He couldnt let himself <em>die<em>, you see.  
>No... He had thought about it at great length in the summer of his twelfth year as he lay on the hard pallet bed in his tiny stuffy room in the orphanage.<p>

Of all the things he could dedicate his attention and effort to now that he was a _wizard_, the only _truly_ worthwhile one, as far as he could tell, was the pursuit of immortality. If _that_ was given, then he had as much time as he needed to spend on all the other things.

By the end of third year he'd finally found something that sounded like what he needed in a dark arts book that Abraxas had brought him from the Malfoy library.

He wasnt very welcome at Malfoy manor. Abraxas father did not approve of his blood. He was quite used to that kind of thing in the meantime. It had been frustrating initially to learn that he was to be despised in this new world just as he had been despised in the orphanage - A freak there and a mudblood here.  
>Not that any would <em>dare<em> use that name in reference to him now.  
>At least not in earshot<br>but he was certain it was still used by those who considered themselves safely remote from him.

The book referenced something called a horcrux.

It was apparently something so vile and...Yes...it was actually referred to as _evil_, infernal, corrupt, depraved - it was considered so _dark_ that virtually all reference to it was destroyed or ministry controlled. Merely seeking to learn about the topic was highly prohibited.  
>It was worse than necromancy, apparently.<br>He'd had a terrible time getting more information, having to piece it together from dozens of sources.

The incantation had taken the longest because it needed to be _exact._ This was not an area to risk approximate experiments.

He'd had to insinuate his way into favour with almost all of the ancient families to get access to their libraries and it had not helped at all. Slughorn had known a little but the man was altogether too nervous and suspicious and in the end Tom had had to abandon him as a source.

The breakthrough had come when he'd discovered the location of Slytherins chamber.  
>Funnily enough he'd dreamt about it. He had been very discouraged that evening and when he had finally fallen asleep hed dreamt a voice was calling him. It was high and breathy and strange.<br>It had called him down to the lowest level of the dungeons, to the end of a dead-end corridor and there it had commanded the way to open.

There were stairs... darkness... he'd walked on in the sublime confidence one has in dreams on occasion, and found himself in the vast stone cavern of what he would later come to recognise was the chamber of secrets.

The voice had spoken further commands and the stone mouth of a great head at the end of the long damp chamber had opened, issuing forth an enormous serpent. Its eyes were closed but faint yellowish orbs were visible through the skin even so. The voice had told him to enter the head and he had awoken.

Certain that it was far too exact... far too _real_ to be an ordinary dream he had the next night searched out the corridor in the lower dungeons... he had spoken the words..exalted as the door appeared and it became apparent that everything else from the dream would be equally valid.  
>There were rooms beyond the serpents antechamber in Slytherins great stone head.<br>Many rooms.  
>But he had only succeeded in opening one. It was sufficient.<br>The room he opened was a library.

It was there he found the incantation.. the full description of the creation of a horcrux.

The actual idea for the object of his first horcrux had crystallised at the beginning of his fourth year.

He had always had a small amount of pocket money. Dippet said that it wasnt right for a boy in Slytherin to be entirely without means and as an orphan the school provided all of his resources.

The self-expanding diary had been the first thing he had ever bought for himself independently.  
>It had caught his eye in the first week that he had begun school at the age of 11 and after a lot of hesitation, running the pads of his fingers over the thick brown buttery leather of its cover, he'd given in to temptation and spent a quarter of his pocket money acquiring it.<p>

He'd intended to use it for notations and spells but after only a week it had become a kind of external memory of sorts; and, in another sense, an object of devotion - The finest thing he had ever possessed.

Obviously diaries were dangerous. It was never a good idea to let others know what one was thinking.  
>At that point he had not yet known very many serious warding charms but he had done his best with what he could find in the library and had started to write in a language he made up.<br>It had come strangely easy at the time. It was made of curling lines and dots.

Years later, as he read through the books in the chamber of secrets hed discovered that this was not an invented language at all but the written equivalent of the serpent tongue.

The_ idea_ had come to him while reading Slytherins books on soul magic - whether it might not be possible to create a sentient horcrux that could function autonomously...  
>could perhaps even communicate... persuade others to perform the rites to reanimate it to flesh..<p>

It seemed quite useful.  
>After all, he couldnt know whether he would have anyone in the future trustworthy enough to rely upon to bring him back, should he be killed somehow.<p>

He'd thought of his diary.

It had been one evening as he was writing in it. he had written something about Cygnus Black's sinfully tempting lips that definitely should not have been immortalised in print, in any language whatsoever, irrespective how many lethal wards and charms might protect it, and it had occurred to him, as he was poised to remove the words, exactly how open and trusting one was with such a book.  
>How easily one revealed intimacies and secrets in the belief that it was <em>safe<em> to do so.  
>He had wondered whether such a thing might be twisted into a means by which a horcrux might reanimate <em>itself.<em>

By the middle of fourth year he was ready to make his first attempt at the creation of a horcrux.

He remembered the weeks leading up to it in excruciating detail.

He'd written _chapters_ in the diary. He'd written about his entire _life_. He'd written everything he could think of... thoughts... hopes... dreams... but most of all _memories_. All of them.  
>Good and bad - although most of them were bad, admittedly.<p>

The plans for who was to be his victim were almost an afterthought and it had happened rather suddenly in the end, on a Hogsmeade Saturday, which he was technically not supposed to be allowed to take part in anyway, lacking the guardians to give permission.

He'd been in the shrieking shack, looking through the rooms, trying to decide whether it would be possible to take a random witch or wizard from Hogsmeade and perhaps bring them there for the rite or whether it would be better to try to abduct a student and drag them into the chamber of secrets, when someone had entered the shack.

It was growing late and the shadows were long and blue on the dry dusty boards.  
>He'd crept downstairs under a silencing charm to find that a tramp had entered the building and was making himself comfortable on the old burst-spring sofa in the downstairs sitting room.<p>

He'd frozen in place, all his senses on full alert, trying to determine whether the repulsive hairy man was alone.  
>There did not tend to be hobos in Hogsmeade, generally speaking. He'd never seen one before.<br>This was therefore an anomaly.

It had been dark by the time he had allowed himself to believe that the man was in fact alone and that no one else was likely to disturb them.

His heart had been beating ten to the dozen as he considered whether it might not be the perfect opportunity to create his first horcrux. In subtext... whether this might be the first person he would ever _kill_... currently lying on the couch and snoring full throat.

He crept closer.  
>Unwilling to cast a lumos and perhaps wake the man, hed enhanced his own eyesight instead.<br>The man did not stir.  
>He seemed to be in his late forties, perhaps early fifties. Not all that old, relatively speaking. He had a head full of thick clotted light brown curls and a full beard that looked like some kind of furred animal trying to eat his face. It was disgustingly filthy.<br>The man seemed to be wearing layers of stinking clothes and his boots were cracked and holey.  
>He did not appear to have a wand and attempting to summon one from him failed.<p>

It had taken another quarter of an hour before Tom had finally made the decision to do it... to perform the spell _now_...rather than later.

He'd silenced the man, which caused him to wake with a start, but by then Tom's incarcerous already bound him tightly.

The first time he'd tried the killing curse... which he'd only ever performed before on spiders and mice he brought into the chamber of secrets... he failed. His wand emitted only a pitiful pale green glow.

The fear on the mans face was vivid and he struggled as frantically as he could against the bindings, but it was of no use to him.

The next attempt at the curse did _not_ fail.  
>A vivid green flash hissed from the tip of his wand and knocked the life right out of the tramp's eyes.<p>

He had held still for a moment, focussing inward, trying to sense what the books had told him would happen if he killed. But he could not, by best will, feel _any_ difference that might suggest to him that he had just torn his soul.

He pulled the shrunken diary from his satchel and returned it to full size.  
>In the last minute it occurred to him that his spell might <em>fail<em>... just as the killing curse had... and that this book had cost such a considerable effort to create that it would be a shame if it were rendered useless by some unforeseen error.

So he had _duplicated_ the diary.

It was the _copy_ he had then used as he cast the fateful incantation; The words that would take the torn fabric of his soul and tear it loose... imprison it in an object, making him immortal.

It had not gone at all how he had imagined.

Perhaps it was simply bad luck.  
>After all... if there were to be two parts to his soul then it was obvious that he would be one of the two and...another version of himself would be the other.<p>

He had never considered what might happen if he was _not_ the part that continued to occupy his tangible form...  
>He had wanted to create a sentient horcrux... and had in fact succeeded but the satisfaction of that success was rather marred by the realisation that <em>he himself WAS <em>that sentient horcrux and was now encased in a still, silent tomb of Hogwarts, a world without weather, without change, without other students or teachers - that he had in fact crafted a prison for himself.

From the moment he had opened his eyes and found himself on the school grounds looking up at the castle set against a steel grey sky, with light that was not exactly light but more the pure awareness of form, he had _known_ that he had made a terrible error.  
>He'd raced inside the castle, run from room to room the empty great hall... the empty Slytherin common room.<br>It was silent as the grave. The only sounds his footfalls on the stone and even those were faint and dull as if the mere memory of sound.  
>Only then had he begun to truly panic.<p>

What if he were trapped here forever... without any marker of the passing of time but the ticking over of his own thoughts?

Could he sleep?

Did he eat?

Was he able to leave the grounds?

How was he to get out of here?

He had not intended to use the diary horcrux unless he himself died - it was a fallback option, not even his first choice for a horcrux to reanimate  
>for if he had more (and he intended to have many more) he would not choose to reanimate the self activating horcrux ever - that was the <em>point<em> of it - to serve as a last ditch save if his own plans all failed.

And what if they _didnt_...

what if he found other _better_ ways to become immortal.

What if he never used the diary at all?

The panic was so great that he actually lost his mind for a time.  
>He tried to sleep and found that he could not.<br>He was ransacking Slytherin's library and had been for what seemed like a _long_ time, when the contact came.

A diary had appeared... simply condensed out of the air and appeared before him... opened and then words had scratched themselves into its pages. It was _his_ handwriting.

_Hello_

He snatched up a quill and ink from Slytherins desk and scrawled in the book

**_Hello -  
>You have to get me out of here! This was a mistake!<em>**

There was no response. He grew increasingly frantic and wrote again

**_HELLO?  
>Look... Im in Hogwarts. Its empty. I can't stay here. You don't understand! You need to get me out! We can find another method. Creating a sentient horcrux was a flawed idea!<em>**

The diary remained quiescent. Tom wished there were something... anything...alive that he could curse here.

Finally the response came.

_The spells on the diary failed. I believe it was due to the duplication. The compulsion and energy transfer charm was not duplicated with the book. I have been unable to apply it retroactively. The horcrux resists any new magic now. _

_I cannot reanimate you._

The quill slipped out of his fingers as he stared at the words. NO! It wasnt possible! He couldn't accept that! That could not be it. He would never let that be the end of it.

**_FIND A WAY!_**

_I cannot do much about it. I will ensure that the next attempt does not fail. _

**_WHAT ABOUT ME?  
>AND WHAT NEXT ATTEMPT? Didnt you listen? You can't make another sentient horcrux you CAN'T! Listen to me! Its inhuman! I cant sleep... this place is not REAL!...I can't...<em>**

The book dissolved into air beneath his fingertips. He screamed in fury and disbelief. He'd closed the diary on himself. FUCK! What was he supposed to do now?


	2. Chapter 2

He waited and waited, but his outside self never opened the diary again.

Over the...seeming eternity... of time, he had scoured every book in the chamber, every book in the library.  
>He had found a way to reanimate a horcrux from a simple object.<br>He theorised that it would work just as well on the diary... but he never had the opportunity to tell his tangible self because the bastard never came back.

Time lost all meaning.

He had read and reread every book in Hogwarts hundreds of times. He no longer bothered to read. There was no point. He knew just about everything by heart.

He would have taken up _writing_ except that it was impossible to create anything new here.  
>He might write a page but no sooner did he turn his attention from it than it vanished.<p>

He would wander aimlessly while his thoughts ticked over.

He never spoke.  
>Initially he had spoken a lot out loud... sometimes even sang.<br>But the sound of his voice - the hollow way it fell in the dead world - was more and more disturbing over time and so he'd stopped.

As time stretched on and on without respite he lost himself.

When the diary reappeared in front of him suddenly after what seemed a thousand unchanging years of this, he looked at it dumbly, wondering whether he had imagined it.  
>Sometimes he did that. Imagined other people... imagined that something had moved...something had changed... it made him quite unsettled at times and he would run wildly as if chased by demons.<p>

He stared at the book in front of him on the table where he had been half lying apathetically thinking about peaches.  
>He desperately wanted one.<br>Peaches had taken on almost divine attributions over time... many different things had.  
>He wanted to hear birdsong.<br>He remembered painfully clearly the taste of a peach he had eaten while leaning up against the tree by the lake and reading from Goetegard. Above him in the tree a blackbird had sung.

_Hello?_

The words were written in a small tentative script and it was _not_ his own. His eyes watched as the words disappeared slowly.

_Is there anyone there?_

His left hand, apparently without his permission, automatically summoned a quill and scratched a reply on the probably imaginary book.

**_Yes._**

The diary disappeared again.

He dropped the quill and sighed, letting his eyes unfocus again. In his mind he was recreating the shape of the handwriting, wondering whether his mind had created it, and if so from whose handwriting hed taken the memory template.

It looked a rather feminine script. Even, measured, quite pleasing and clear to read but somehow weak, or giving the impression of someone who perhaps lacked confidence. The letters were bunched up quite closely together. The words huddled low.

After a while he lost interest in the train of thought and drifted onto the spell hed been thinking about.

Over the last..however long.. he'd started to invent spells. Some of them worked here and some of them didn't. He couldn't tell whether it was because of his condition and location or whether the spells were simply faulty.  
>The one he had been thinking about lately was a variation on Raoxes energy absorption hex and two other transfer spells which, he theorised, should work like a generator of sorts absorbing received curses, amplifying and making it possible to reuse them.<br>Thinking about the particular transfer spells to use was the most important part.  
>The version he was considering now would amplify a curse, in all likelihood, by a factor of perhaps fifty.<br>It could be better.

By the time he had come up with a better alternative to the variable flow shift charm which required separate casting (and was therefore impractical) the book had reappeared. He let his head turn slowly toward it on the table.

_Tom?_

That handwriting was familiar.

He had a bad feeling.  
>Whoever that was it wasnt someone he particularly liked. He was almost tempted to ignore it. The thought was absurd though. He might never get out of this horrible box, but perhaps... just perhaps... he could persuade whoever that was to destroy the diary.<p>

He had come up with _hundreds_ of ways to do so. Potions... spell... venoms...

**_Hello._**

He wrote it, almost reconciling himself to the expectation that whoever it was would leave again immediately.

_Tom, my boy, are you well? _

He actually groaned out loud as the sudden recognition of just whose handwriting it was struck him. Oh Salazar. Of all the possible wizards in the world who might discover him, this was possibly the worst case. Even after an eternity of this misery... he _still_ loathed that old goat.

Swallowing he tried to think of how to respond. A sarcastic "just dandy" would probably not help his case very much. In the end he decided to try for honesty and hope for mercy.

**_No... I'm afraid I'm not.  
>Please Professor Dumbledore... I realise that you and I have never been on particularly good terms... but I am asking you... no... I am<span> begging<span> you to destroy this diary. _**

A long silence ensued. The diary did not however disappear. The words that appeared finally did not surprise him greatly.

_I don't believe I can do that, Tom. I'm sorry. I will not murder you.  
>Would you mind terribly telling me exactly when you created this horcrux? <em>

He sighed. Of course the old bastard wouldn't put him out of his misery. He was probably just revelling in the identity of the tormented soul he held in his fingertips.  
>Bastard.<p>

**_1940.  
>Please Sir... If you won't help me, perhaps you could find someone who would be prepared to? <em>**

**_I can tell you so many ways to do it. _**

**_I've had...so long...to think about it._**

**_Please... I...can't - I don't want to be here forever. Anything would be better._**

**_Please._**

The book vanished slowly. He turned his head and experienced the completely unexpected urge to weep. He hadn't done that in...A long time.

Time passed. An indefinite period. Possibly days... weeks... who could tell anymore?  
>He was...meditating - It was the closest he could come to sleep - when the book reappeared.<p>

_Tom?_

He roused himself and summoned a quill. It took a minute or two, since he was sitting out on the grass under the monochrome sky.

**_Yes, Sir?_**

_I have come to a decision about whether to help you. _

He sat up straight, feeling suddenly more awake than he had in a while. This was an important piece of information. Dumbledore might possibly agree to kill him.  
>Surely the man wouldnt be cruel enough to return only to tell him that he was condemned to stay here forever.<p>

**_Yes, Sir? What have you decided?_**

_I am not going to kill you, Tom._

He felt his heart twinge painfully as if garrotted by a piano wire.  
>The bastard really had come here purely to rub his eternal imprisonment under his nose.<p>

**_Oh. _**

It was all he could think to write. The word vanished immediately as Dumbledore started to write.

_However I will_ _help you._

_I have decided to resurrect you. _

The spectre that passed for his heart in this place stopped beating in shock. He hadnt even considered that possibility in several ages.

_I will do this only under several conditions, Tom._

**_I don't care what they are. Anything. Whatever you want.  
>Do you truly mean to free me?<br>You're not just saying it to torture me, are you?  
>Please... get me out of here. Anything... please Professor. I'll do whatever you want. <em>**

_Tom.  
>You must <span>listen<span>. _

He forced himself to calm down although he desperately wanted to shake the man.

**_I'm sorry.  
>I'm listening Sir.<em>**

_The first condition is that I will require you to wear a certain necklace. It will function as a locating charm and it will also limit your movement in some ways. This will be a restriction on your freedom obviously...however if I am to trust you I deem it necessary._

He didn't hesitate.

**_You can chain me to a post in the Great Hall if you really want. I don't care. As long as I'm not in this thrice damned book._**

_I take it immortality is not as advertised then?  
>...Forgive me. That was uncalled for. What has happened to you is an unfortunate tragedy.<br>Admittedly you did bring it upon yourself...  
>Apologies... That will be my last dig, Tom.<em>

_My second requirement is that you will associate only with those that I specifically approve. You will remain with these individuals as long and as often as I wish and you will never seek to escape them or to take up contact with anyone else without permission._

**_Fine._****_  
>Anyone would be a sight for sore eyes right now.<em>**

_My third stipulation, Tom, is that you provide whatever assistance you can on any matter I deem of importance. No matter your own preferences or feelings, you will_ offer any information or insight you possess. Are we understood?

**_Gladly._****_  
>ANYTHING. <em>**

_Very well._

_I shall require several hours to prepare. _

The book vanished again slowly and from that point on time seemed to slow painfully.  
>He wondered whether Dumbledore had lied... whether he hadnt instead taken several days to prepare.<br>He wondered whether he would ever come back at all.

Sitting by the lake, looking out over the black smooth waveless expanse, hope and anticipation of almost painful levels warred inside with despair and self recrimination.  
>Dumbledore was right. This had been all his own fault.<br>And he was such a fool that he'd even ignored his OWN pleas and warnings.

If he was still alive out there and he managed to get out he was going to _kill_ his other self for that.

There wasn't any warning when it happened. Just a blinding flash of the most intense pain he had ever felt (not that he had a particularly clear memory of pain).  
>This was beyond everything. It felt as if he were being torn apart.<br>He found himself dizzy and nauseous - he hadnt felt nausea since he'd arrived in this place! It was.. wonderful.. to feel anything. Even pain. Even nausea.  
>The sensation seemed to grow with each passing moment and the lake before him, the tree behind him - everything around him - swam and shimmered as if in a heat haze.<p>

He clenched his eyes closed and astoundingly... gloriously, he felt himself actually slip away from consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

When awareness returned, it was dark.

It was never dark in the diary. Even in an entirely enclosed and unlit room, somehow a mental outline of every object was nevertheless present in awareness.

But now it was dark. And...things felt _different._ Textures...

He could _smell_ something.

He was in the infirmary.  
>It smelled of potions.<br>The sheets felt crisp and overstarched on the bed he was laying in.

He tried to sit up and look around.  
>His body felt very different. When he moved, he could feel peculiar rubbing and stretching sensations of the cotton pyjamas he was apparently wearing, and his own muscles shifting.<br>He moved experimentally a little more, stretching his arms out and then pulling them back, touching his face, his hair.

He felt...exactly as he always had... except the textures and sensations were so much _more_ now.

"Welcome back, Tom"

The unexpected voice from the side of the room startled him and he jumped nearly a foot in the air, his head spinning to peer in that direction.  
>There was a shadow in the dark but he couldnt make much out.<br>The voice... sounded... almost like Dumbledore... except it was rougher... softer. it sounded tired.

At that moment a lamp flickered into life beside his bed and illuminated the figure on the chair.

He felt his own jaw drop. He couldnt help it. Exactly how long had he been in the diary?  
>The man who sat there was unmistakeably Dumbledore, except that it wasnt the Dumbledore he knew at all.<br>_That _man had had shoulder length auburn curls, vivid twinkling blue eyes and a jaunty little moustache and goatee. He'd worn a lot of tweed and houndstooth and had a jolly bright demeanour (that was nevertheless sharp as a sawtooth blade).

The man sitting on the chair now, however, looked older than Methuselah.  
>His white beard reached down past his waist and he had rheumy pale blue eyes, in which the twinkle was somehow less obnoxious than it had been.<br>He looked tired and worn down by time.

He was wearing an utterly appalling bright purple set of robes with orange embroidery around the hems and waist.

As if suddenly realising his rudeness Tom reeled his jaw back in and tried to compose himself.

You have been gone for some time, Tom. As you see time did not stop for the rest of us. The year is 1996.

He fought to keep his face under control as this little titbit of trivia was laid upon him.  
>1996.<br>That would make him...66... if he were alive now.  
>That was entirely possible. 66 was no great age. He would surely still live...<br>He reaffirmed his resolution to amend that circumstance. It would be quite interesting to watch himself scream under his wand.  
>Oh.<br>His wand.  
>He didn't have one now. His <em>other<em> self would have it.

Dumbledore's eyes were slightly narrowed and seemed to be weighing him up. He felt some faint inexplicable impression of disapproval.  
>Apparently he'd failed already. A sharp stab of terror paralysed him.<br>If he upset Dumbledore, was it possible for him to be sent back into the diary? Could the man do that? Was the diary gone? He didn't know how he'd been reanimated. He needed to ensure he didn't anger Dumbledore.

Dumbledore seemed to sigh and his gaze softened slightly.

"No, Tom. I can quite _understand_ your ire toward your other self. I am certain that almost all wizards would feel the same way if they had experienced what you have.  
>Nevertheless... it is a counterproductive line of thought.<br>Do not worry yourself about the fate of the rest of your soul at present. It is more important that you try to focus on the here and now.  
>I expect that it will be somewhat difficult for you to adapt to the real world once again."<p>

Tom blanched inwardly, unsure what to think. He both yearned to leap up and race out the door to adapt to the real world again and also wished simply to continue to exist in peace and solitude, albeit with a different range of scenery. The smallest change was sufficient - more than that was overwhelming. Even the bare demands of this one sided conversation were taxing.

He wanted Dumbledore to leave so that he could get used to the sensation of his body and the textures of his surroundings. The sound of a voice was too much after decades of silence.  
>He didn't know how to begin to use his own voice. Hopefully no response would be required.<p>

The old man, seeming to sigh again, spoke more softly.

"I see that you are very tired and more than a little overcome. I shall leave you to sleep. I will return in the morning and we will talk about what is to happen to you now."

Tom offered a grateful expression although the idea of _sleeping_ seemed utterly foreign. He didn't even remember how one was supposed to go about it.  
>Neither did he think he would manage to talk about anything whatsoever with Dumbledore when the man returned in the morning.<br>Nevertheless, it seemed sufficient since Dumbledore pulled himself, with creaking effort, to his feet and with a final gentle smile toward him, turned and left the infirmary.

Tom didnt bother to get up and check... he found he could _feel_ the wards flick up from across the room. Apparently Dumbledore was not taking any chances.

He sat for a long time, looking around the room that was...unfamiliar... and yet familiar. The bare bones of the room were similar to the infirmary in the diary... but everything was slightly different; the colours, the objects; it was all..._real_...

He cautiously pulled the blankets off and slipped his feet out of bed, pulling himself up to stand.  
>The floor was cold under his bare feet.<br>He had a strange feeling and couldnt place what exactly it was.

He walked up and down absently, curling his toes and wondering, when it finally occurred to him.

He was thirsty.

Well... easily solved. He went to the bathroom of the infirmary and filled a glass from the tap.  
>The water was like a small slice of heaven. He drank and drank and drank. The sensation of it in his mouth... of it running down his throat so cool and smooth and refreshing. He drank until his stomach ached.<br>Then a new sensation demanded his attention. He found himself overjoyed to recognise it. As it turned out, urinating was almost more satisfying than drinking had been.  
>He went back to the tap and drank another five glasses of water in the gleeful anticipation of being able to do it again very soon.<p>

When he came out of the bathroom smiling, he was thinking of all the other things he couldn't wait to do again.

He pulled up short, his eyes widening when he saw the boy sitting in the chair by his bed.

Dumbledore had said that he would leave him to sleep. Had he sent this boy? Why? The boy was a few years older than him - he put him in perhaps sixth or seventh year. He had a shock of messy black hair and wore circular black framed glasses. His face was quite thin and angular, although he had a decent physique.

None of those things were in any way salient however.  
>What was of relevance was that he was looking at Tom with an expression of loathing and he was pointing a wand.<p>

"Riddle." The boy acknowledged, as if they were somehow old acquaintances.  
>He wondered at the familiarity of it. The boy must somehow know (and despise) his other self in this time.<br>He didn't move in the face of this new unexpected threat.

Dumbledore wouldn't have allowed someone who despised him this much to come in here when he was weak and unarmed, surely.

If that was so then this boy had somehow gotten in here past the quite complicated wards that Dumbledore had set up.  
>He sent a tentative feeler of awareness toward the door. The wards were in place. No running away then.<p>

He tried to find his voice to speak... but it had been so very long since hed spoken... he opened his mouth and the breath died on his lips over and over again. He didnt know what to say anyway. Possibly something along the lines of 'who are you. I'd appreciate it if you did not kill me just yet. Does Dumbledore know you're here? What do you want from me?' Something along those lines. But he couldnt get anything out at all.

"Can you speak?" the boy asked with some kind of strangely amused fascination.

He opened his mouth again and tried, forming the word yes... but it was silent...no more than a shaped breath.

The black haired boy snorted and pointed his wand at the lamp, brightening it.

"Come here" he demanded softly.

Tom hesitated but, really, non compliance in this situation seemed like a bad idea.  
>He padded over to the other side of the bed nervously.<p>

When he was there, he noticed something further about the boy who seemed to be debating hexing him. He had brilliant bottle green... no...They were brighter... he had _Avada_ green eyes.  
>He'd never seen eyes as vibrant...or in fact as deep and troubled... as these.<br>They were mesmerising. He found himself staring.

The boy immediately averted his gaze as if stung. "Don't look me in the eye, Riddle. If you try to poke around in my mind, Ill see to it that you stay in here a lot longer while they regrow every bone in your nasty little body."

Tom's interest was piqued by the cold vicious tone of the other. The boy sounded like he was quite prepared to follow through on the threat. Perhaps this boy might be useful?  
>Poke around in his mind, he'd said. His other self in this time must be a legilimens. The only person he knew who could poke around in one's mind was Dumbledore.<p>

He examined the boy surreptitiously, avoiding direct eye contact. This boy didnt just dislike him... he hated him... he wanted to _kill_ him. It was written in every angle of his body as he sat there.  
>The wand didnt waver for a second.<p>

After a minute or so Tom lowered his eyes and carefully climbed back into bed.  
>It wasn't as if he could run from whoever this was.<p>

"How did you get here, anyway? You look about bloody twelve! Theres no way in hell you could have made a horcrux at your age."

Tom jumped again at the casual reference to something that, as far as he was aware, 99.99% of all wizards and witches would never have heard of in their lives.  
>And he wasnt <em>twelve.<em>..  
>and it was just insulting to state that he'd never have been able to make one. They werent even that difficult to make. Getting the information had been a lot harder than carrying out the spell.<p>

He allowed his eyes to flick up to the other boy's face for a second, staying around the area of his rather thin lips and then sliding back down to the white cottony surface of the bed covers.

"Oh for fuck's sake" the boy huffed and summoned something from the other side of the room wordlessly. The next moment parchment and quill were shoved under Tom's nose.

"If you cant speak, write. I want to know how you got here."  
>There was a moment of hesitation.<br>"How old are you? Do you even know who I am?"

Tom glanced up again. Why the hell would he know who this boy was? He pulled the parchment and quill closer and wrote, hesitantly.

_Does professor Dumbledore know you're here? He told me I wasn't allowed to talk to anyone without his express permission._

A stinging hex swiped across his cheek. He flinched. Pain... again... It was so strange how even pain was bliss now. Any sensation was better than that bland continual emptiness.

He let his eyes drift up to the other boy's lips again and offered a small smile. This seemed to disturb the boy intensely. He flicked off a much harder hex. It sliced into his jaw and he knew it was a cutting hex of some description because red drizzled out and dripped onto the sheets.  
>Tom looked at the blood, fascinated. A while since hed seen any of the brilliant red liquid.<p>

"Answer the questions, Riddle!" the boy hissed, preparing to hex him again.

"Harry!" a female voice hissed in a chastising half whisper.

Tom looked up, his eyes roving around the room frantically. Someone else was here. Hed missed them completely. Were they disillusioned? He hadnt _felt_ someone else here... Salazar! Was he losing the ability to sense magic now too?

"Stop it!" the unseen female voice berated. "Look, you just heard him. Professor Dumbledore told him not to talk to anyone. Dont force him to disobey already! We can just come back tomorrow after weve spoken to the professor."

He tried to locate the source of the voice, making a mental note that the boy who had hexed him was called Harry. Hed have to repay the hexes to Harry one day.

"You have to be _joking"_ the boy growled back. "He's a nasty,lying, little snake! Dumbledore didnt tell him anything of the sort - you heard him while he was here.  
>Even if he had, Tom Riddle never did <em>anything<em> because Dumbledore told him to. It's just an excuse to avoid answering questions. - This isnt something I'm willing to wait and see on. This is bloody Tom Riddle here. In the flesh.  
>I <em>recognise <em>him. It's HIM.  
>Even if he does look like a firstie.<br>I want to know how the bloody hell he got here. Theres no way I'm closing my eyes and sleeping, knowing he's in the castle. You have no idea what were dealing with here."

Ok... the boy wasnt going to go away. Tom could see that now. And he had no way of calling for Dumbledore. He couldnt even speak to summon a house elf, not that he imagined they would respond to him. Dumbledore would have made sure they couldn't. The man didn't trust him as far as he could throw him.

_Fine _he wrote on the parchment.

_I was 14 when I was put into a diary horcrux. Dumbledore brought me back. What else do you want to know?_

The boy looked appalled.

"Another diary? You've got to be kidding! You made a horcrux at...at _fourteen?.._What the fuck is _wrong_ with you, you twisted little bastard?"

Tom blinked slowly. Another. Therefore he _had _gone ahead and made the other one he had talked about making...despite his own warnings. And somehow this boy was aware of that.  
>It must have been activated in the meantime somehow.<p>

Maybe he was wrong... maybe his primary self _wasnt_ alive now then. His eyes slid back to the older boy.

_Obviously... I dont know anything about another diary. The one I was in was the first horcrux I made.  
>It was an...experiment... it didn't work as I had thought it would.<br>I tried to tell my other self not to make another one... tried to tell him to get me out.  
>As you see I ignored my own warnings and pleas.<br>Anything else you might have against me would be after my time._

The green eyed boy raised his wand again and Tom recognised the look in his eyes immediately. That determined resolution. There was murder in those dazzling green orbs.

He was about to react to the threat when suddenly there was a flurry of movement directly in front of him and a form seemed to unfold itself out of the air. It pressed back against him and he got a face full of bushy curly hair.

"NO! HARRY! STOP!" the girls voice cried.

There was a crash from the other side of the room suddenly.

He was trying to lean away to see what was going on... but part of him didnt really want to..  
>This was the first human contact he'd had in ...well... he hadnt really had very much before the diary either. People didnt tend to dare to try to touch him.<br>He was a bit stunned, to tell the truth.  
>And, whoever the girl was, her hair smelled of <em>peaches<em>.

He let himself take a single deep breath of it and then pulled away, leaning back and sliding out of the bed quickly, taking cover.

"MIONE! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? I ALMOST BLOODY-..."

"NO HARRY, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK _YOU'RE _DOING? WHAT WERE YOU GOING TO DO TO HIM? FROM THE LOOKS OF THE TABLE YOU WERE TRYING TO _KILL_ HIM!  
>Damn it! Hes FOURTEEN! He hasnt done anything yet. He hasnt even been provocative since you started talking to him, even when you bloody hexed him for nothing. What the hell is <em>wrong<em> with you?"

Tom peered over the edge of the bed from his vantage point, pressed against the bedside table.

He could see the back of the girl who had leapt in front of him. She cut a slender figure... probably in her sixth or seventh year like the boy...Harry. Her hair was a mass of brown curls reaching halfway down her back.  
>She glanced over her shoulder at him, displaying an unusual face. She was quite pretty, he thought. If unconventionally so. She had large amber brown eyes that were unusually alert and intelligent and a cute nose that turned up just slightly at the end.<p>

She saw him hiding on the floor and her features twisted in an expression he recognised only too well.  
>Sympathy. Pity.<br>He despised that expression... but... he had to admit... it was often very useful.

He did his best to look shell-shocked and frightened.

"Oh damn it." She cursed softly and looked back at the other boy. He caught her glare at Harry before she got up and came around the bed, approaching him slowly and carefully.

"Look... Tom...I...I won't hurt you. Ok? I wont let Harry hurt you either. You can calm down now. You're safe. I'm...so sorry... that this is your first experience of others after...a long time alone."

His eyes flicked to hers briefly. He wasnt certain but he thought there was a very slight twist of calculation in her soothing brown eyes.  
>He thought about this. Even if this were all a ploy, it would be wise of him to play along.<p>

He offered her an uncertain smile with a component of hope to it. She seemed pleased.

"I'll...help you back into bed. Harry lower your wand _NOW_ or I swear I'm going to sheath it somewhere nature didn't intend."

Tom smirked faintly, glancing over at Harry, who had blushed slightly and looked peeved.  
>He allowed the girl to gently take his arm and help him up, although his natural instinct screamed to pull away and inform her not to take liberties with his person.<br>That was not a _useful _instinct right now. This girl was the good auror of the two. He should show her that he welcomed her attentions.

So he let her help him back into bed.

She actually _tucked him in_!  
>It was an entirely new and surreal experience for him.<p>

He took the time to examine her more closely as she leaned over him, tucking in the covers on the far side. She was indeed quite pretty.  
>He wondered whether she could be persuaded to be more friendly with him. He'd never experienced sex and, over the long long years (theyd felt so much longer than only fifty two), it was one of the things he'd berated himself for the most. How could he risk his existence so lightly, without even experiencing the most basic fundamentals of life?<p>

He leaned in toward her subtly and sniffed lightly again. She smelled amazing. Peaches!... oh. Peaches peaches...he'd wanted a peach so badly.

The girl, the boy had called her...Mione (?), stiffened and looked at him in surprise, catching him in the act. Her eyes seemed to goggle for a moment and then flicked away in the direction of the boy Harry, as if worried that he might have seen.

He apparently hadn't.

Tom offered her a tiny secretive smile, knowing that she wouldn't say a word, for fear of what the other boy might do if he knew.

He leaned back into the pillows and watched her withdraw with a thoughtful, slightly confused look on her face. He looked back over at the other boy, momentarily ignoring the previous command to avoid making eye contact and taking the opportunity to look into the striking eyes that were narrowed at him suspiciously.  
>It was a pity that this boy hated him so much. He was... perhaps even more attractive than the girl and...well... Tom's own natural preferences tended to lean slightly more in favour of the masculine than the feminine.<br>He would of course sample both sexes at the earliest opportunity, simply for the intrinsic value of the experience.

Looking about for the parchment, the girl seemed to recognise what he wanted and bent to retrieve the parchment and quill from the floor, passing it to him wordlessly. He pulled it close and wrote with more care than before

_He's Harry and you are ...Mione?_

The girl glanced at his writing and looked at him with an unreadable expression

"Hermione..." she said quietly. "I'm Hermione. You should probably sleep now. Come on Harry. We should go."

He was musing on how unusual her name was when she mentioned leaving. Turning quickly back to the parchment he scrawled hurriedly

_I'm not sure I can sleep. I...don't know how anymore. I haven't slept in...a long time. Please stay!_

Hermione looked unsure, her forehead furrowing as she looked over at Harry who seemed annoyed, although Tom couldnt tell whether he was annoyed at her suggestion they leave or his request that she stay.

"Harry... Were not supposed to be here and you said you just wanted to see. We've seen. Come on. We have to go now!"

Disappointed, he looked away. The girl, Hermione, didn't _want_ to stay here with him. He'd unsettled her already.  
>He sighed and turned his head away, looking over toward the tall thin windows at the end of the infirmary. Some kind of blocking charm had been applied to them. Otherwise he should be able to see the night sky and stars now. He'd spent enough nights in the infirmary in his first year to know that.<p>

"You go, Mione." Harry said with a slightly threatening undertone.  
>"It seems that...<em>Tom... <em>doesnt want to be alone. I'll keep him company."

Tom rolled his eyes and turned in the bed away from Harry, curling up and closing his eyes.

"Harry... please?"

The tone in her voice alerted Tom to something else about this pair.  
>No matter how stern and demanding the girl might have sounded before - in whatever way these two were connected, the boy, Harry, was definitely in charge.<br>The note of pleading was one which he'd heard Abraxas use on him before, when hed insisted upon some slightly risky course of action that the blonde was uncomfortable with.  
>He wondered whether Harry and Hermione were dating.<br>He didn't really have any way of knowing. It had been so long since he'd heard people speaking; seen couples and friends interact. He supposed it was possible.

He lay still and tried to slow his breathing.

After a long time he finally heard the boy mutter. "Yeah... ok... fine. Well go."

He listened to the sounds of them moving for a moment, and then there was silence..When he looked up, the room seemed to be empty. The doors hadnt opened and he really wondered how the hell theyd done that.

He lay for a very long time thinking.

Sixty six years... He was sixty six years old.  
>In some ways he felt much older.<br>Yet... his own face in the bathroom belied that. For fifty years or so he'd looked at a childs face in the mirror and a child was what everyone else would see when they looked upon him.  
>Except perhaps Dumbledore. He mustn't underestimate that old goat.<br>And the boy with the Avada eyes... _Harry. _Harry didnt think of him as a harmless child either.

He wondered what his other self (selves?) might be doing.

Dumbledore's reaction had strongly suggested that he _was_ out there somewhere and apparently constituted a serious problem for the old wizard, hence why he had stipulated that Tom would be resurrected only if he accepted being a dog on a short leash and answering any questions Dumbledore might have.

He assumed he was soon enough to be used to try to anticipate his other self's actions. Or something along those lines.  
>He wasn't certain whether he really cared too greatly either way.<br>It was..._himself,_ obviously... and thus it had probably only acted as he himself would also have acted in its place, but that did not excuse the last fifty miserable years.  
>Well... perhaps it did... but he was angry and wished to punish the one responsible for his torment... Which was himself obviously...<br>He sighed.  
>Perhaps it would simply be best to try to find out what had happened in the interim.<br>Perhaps there was a valid reason for leaving him in his prison.  
>He would inform himself as much as he was able as to the events of the last fifty years and <em>then<em> he would make his choice where he stood regarding his other self.

At present it would probably be counterproductive, as Dumbledore had said, to think about it overtly. He likely could not escape Hogwarts, had no idea where his other self might be and no wand.

Moreover to think about this matter too much would only lead to an increase in the restrictions placed upon him.  
>He hadn't needed to occlude in too long and Dumbledore seemed to be better at legilimency than ever before. Better to put his other self out of his mind altogether for the moment.<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

The sudden glaring brightness of the room startled him out of his meditative stupor.

He blinked.

Dumbledore. He'd dispelled the spells shielding the windows.  
>Inwardly Tom groaned. Starting the day to Dumbledore's twinkle was never a good thing.<p>

There was another man behind him.  
>A tall dour raven of a wizard was framed in the doorway where he had stopped dead.<br>He was looking at tom as if he were some kind of impossible abomination.

"Albus... you failed to mention the _age_ of the boy." He growled low, as all trace of his internal disorder was smoothly wiped from his face.

Professor Dumbledore had a slight smile on his face. "So I did, Severus. My mistake. I did not think it particularly relevant. Tom is _fourteen_."

Tom watched the absence of expression waver on the wizard 'Severus' face as he digested that small fact.

"Now then Tom. How did you sleep?" Dumbledore prompted him. He shifted his gaze from the twin black onyxes which were fixated on a point inches away from his eyes. The twinkling sky blue gaze pinned him and he could _feel_ a vaguely uncomfortable fluttering or shifting in his mind. Legilimency.  
>He struggled and managed to look away but the sensation continued nonetheless. It was a horrible feeling to realise that his mind was lying defenceless in Albus Dumbledore's hands. He determined he would spend all his time in the foreseeable future compartmentalising and building defences for his mind.<p>

"I...don't believe I slept, Professor" he answered politely. "I closed my eyes... but I could not remember how to do it."

The sensation in his head stopped and he risked a glance at the ancient wizard. Dumbledore looked troubled. "Yes... well... I'm sure you will sleep when your body requires it" he answered, however it seemed to tom that his mind was on something else.

"Tom – I would like Professor Snape to carry out several diagnostic spells upon you. Normally you would be treated by the current mediwitch Madame Pomfrey however for the moment it would be best to keep the news of your arrival to a minimum. To this end... after Professor Snape has examined you, you will move to the quarters I have prepared for you."

Tom maintained a polite neutral mien however inwardly he was frowning and trying not to think about the matter that was preoccupying him.  
>He had the strangest sensation right now.<br>He'd had something like it last night for a while but it had come and gone.  
>Now it was back... but not the same. It was like a faint tingling in his head. He wondered whether his other self might have realised he had been resurrected and be trying to establish contact with him.<p>

Struggling with skills he hadn't had to use in four lifetimes, he firmly buried the awareness of the sensation in the deepest corner of his mind and ignored it.

The hook nosed wizard approached him warily as if he were a hissing cobra and stopped more than two metres away to cast the spells.

Tom suppressed the observation that the strange feeling increased when he came nearer and sat placidly while different colours were projected around him. He read them absently. He was perfectly healthy. He was incontrovertibly fourteen years old. He was virginal. His magical reserves were... (He blinked)... _far_ greater than they had been before he had been placed in the diary! They were impressive for an _adult_ wizard! Interesting!

He wondered whether his magic registered that he was sixty six years old, whether it was somehow an effect of being a horcrux or whether he was in some manner connected to his primary self (and potentially other soul fragments with individual magical stores)

The other two wizards seemed quite perturbed by the result. He watched with a carefully curious expression as 'professor Snape' ran the diagnostic spell three times and then exchanged a tight lipped look with Dumbledore.  
>Tom considered it might be disingenuous to enquire what the spell was for and so said nothing.<br>No further diagnostics were cast however. With a minimum of umming and ahing, he was assisted out of bed and into the floo.

The room into which he emerged, spinning and managing to maintain his balance, was far more opulent than he had expected. He seemed to be in a large...lounge? Study? It was certainly smaller than the house common rooms, but far larger than anything a student would have.

A small suite of brown leather furniture curled around the large carved stone fireplace he had just stepped out of.

His mind put the pieces together as he looked around the room.  
>Two desks on opposite sides. A tall window over each. The sun streamed in <em>on both sides.<em> Each desk was flanked by large bookshelves that spanned much of the wall.  
>One stained glass panel over the right desk displayed a roaring lion...while that over the left desk showed a slithering serpent. There were tapestries depicting lions, serpents, eagles and badgers... turning and glancing behind he noted that the fireplace was carved with the emblems of all four houses. .<br>He was in the head boy and girl's rooms.

Why would Dumbledore bring him here? This was to be his...quarters? Were there no head boy and girl in this era?  
>Or... perhaps merely no head boy? The desk on the right side was obviously occupied. Books were neatly stacked upon it. A writing set... parchments. That on the left had been cleared.<p>

Inwardly he smirked. Whoever the head boy was, he was almost certainly quite irate at present.

Professor Snape stepped out of the floo behind him, his expression fairly _radiating_ disapproval at the room. He stepped away from tom quickly, keeping his hand on his wand.  
>The man was...<em>frightened<em> of him, he realised.  
>He was truly quite concerned that tom might at any second attack, wandless or not, and what's more – <em>best<em> him.

Filing that little piece of information away he stepped further into the room, walking around the sofa and trailing his fingertips over its surface. Leather. Soft.. cool.. thick.. rich.. He'd been drawn to the diary because of _this_ precise sensation on his fingers. It was very pleasant.

Beyond the sofa there was a large round ornate rug on the floor which looked like a complex intertwining mandala of green and red Celtic knot patterns. It was thick and plushy against his bare feet when he stepped into it, closing his eyes and allowing the sensations to seduce him for a moment.

The flare and hiss of Dumbledore entering the room caused him to turn and open his eyes.

The old man's face was bright and jovial as ever. That expression had always infuriated him. "Well then... I see that you have recognised where you are to be placed.  
>Another student has...voluntarily relinquished his claim to the head boy suite – and therefore you will be-"<p>

There was a snort from professor Snape. "Voluntarily... Albus... _really?_"

Dumbledore ignored the growl and continued unconcerned "- staying with the current head girl.  
>I expect you to make every effort to befriend her Tom. She is a student, in some ways, after your own heart. She is also the most gifted student this school has seen since your own graduation. Her name is Hermione."<br>He watched the black eyes of the other man, currently serving as his barometer for Dumbledore's smudging of the truth, flicker almost imperceptibly.

"I believe she is likely still sleeping; however I'm certain you will meet her in another hour. She will be rising for classes." Dumbledore paused  
>"I confess I am not entirely certain what to do with you for the moment. I doubt that you would derive much benefit from classes and it would be best not to provoke too many questions about you from the students. I shall think on it."<br>"Perhaps you might consider whether there are any areas in which you might like to undertake research. If I approve of them, I may provide you with resources."

The white bearded old fox smiled magnanimously.

"Your room is up the stairs to the left. If you would like to make yourself comfortable... perhaps shower or bathe... a house elf should be bringing along some suitable clothes for you shortly.  
>I do not expect you to remain in pyjamas constantly and... As you will likely not be leaving these rooms, there is little reason to require you to dress in uniform."<p>

Tom caught only the part about not leaving the rooms. A small fragment of his heart dropped. He'd gone from an empty world to a two room prison cell apparently. Wonderful.  
>Still at least he would be able to eat... shower...perhaps eventually he might sleep. And he would be trapped in his little cell with the rather interesting peach scented girl from last night,<br>..unless Hermione was inexplicably a common name in the future. It seemed unlikely however.

That would at least provide entertainment for a while. He would see what might be done to persuade Dumbledore to relax his restrictions in time.

Nodding respectfully to the old goat he started to turn away to go upstairs.

"Oh... Tom. I had almost forgotten. If you would come here for a moment please."

He froze and turned on the ball of his foot. He'd actually been expecting that. Dumbledore always did that. He would throw out the prospect of leaving or winning or whatever one happened to be wanting at that moment and then just as one tried to grasp the offered path, he would add an addendum in the form of 'oh... before you x. Or oh... I had almost forgotten. Something along those lines and then there would be the barbed hook of whatever it was one wished to avoid.  
>It was one of his more irritating mannerisms.<p>

Tom maintained a resolutely neutral expression as he padded closer to the man, looking him right in the beard.

"I had almost forgotten a certain item of jewellery I wished to present you with. If you would..."

Dumbledore drew out a necklace from his pocket. Tom could practically taste the binding charms all over it.  
>Irritating old bastard.<br>It was impossible to detect how many different spells were placed upon the simple silver chain and carved onyx bead, because they were layered and seemed to blend, but he _was_ certain that there was no way he would be getting around allowing the old wizard to put it on him.  
>And of course... it was generally to be expected that any enchanted necklace one allowed another witch or wizard to fasten upon one's neck would be unlikely to be removable by one's own hand.<br>It was a standard with all jewellery enchanted to bind the wearer.

He bowed his head and _allowed_ the chain to be fastened around his throat, gritting his teeth.  
>He was calming his mind... meditating almost... because to allow his true emotion to flare at this moment would be...unwise. He had been capable of wandless magic when angry <em>before<em> entering the diary. Now...well... his magic was considerably more powerful.  
>He did not wish to put any ideas in the old man's head about binding that too.<p>

"There." Dumbledore pronounced, affixing the necklace with an air of satisfaction.

Tom raised his head and glanced up at the pale twinkling eyes, only once, before starting to turn away again.

"Tom..." Dumbledore started with a voice that sounded almost kindly. He paused and half turned, but did not look him in the face.  
>"I realise that it has perhaps been a while since you last spoke... however I would like to have a conversation with you. I expect you to...find your voice... by the afternoon."<br>"We will not talk at great length, do not be concerned... but I think it best that you return to speaking rather than writing. You are not mute. The diagnostic spells show no damage to your vocal chords. You must simply take some time by yourself to get used to speaking once again."

Tom swallowed and nodded once, finally, turning away again and leaving the two wizards behind him as he climbed the stairs up to what was going to be his room.

He heard the floo flare as he placed his hand on the door handle. It flared silver for a moment and then unlocked.

The room inside exceeded all expectations of a head boy's room. He wondered whether he had become head boy in the past and hoped to hell that he had.

The room was gorgeous.  
>It had a vaguely octagonal shape, dominated by two features in particular.<p>

The first were great floor to ceiling mullioned windows covering two entire walls of the octagon and crowned with a modest balcony on one wall.  
>The view looked out over the black lake and forbidden forest. It was spectacular and bathed the entire room in soft morning light.<p>

The second dominant feature was the bed. It was a double. In fact it looked bigger than a regular double bed. He'd never actually slept in a double bed. The largest bed he'd ever been in had been his single bed in the Slytherin dorms.  
>This bed was vast and it lacked a canopy. It had short posts carved with serpents which wound around the wooden headboard also.<p>

It was...exquisite.

The bed was laid with forest green silk covers. He found himself drawn toward it as if pulled on strings.  
>His fingertips traced the waxy smooth corrugations of the carved posts, trailed down and slid over the covers.<p>

He sat down on the edge of the bed, trying to convince himself that he wasn't actually delighted to be trapped in these rooms. He was sure that his current awe would pass shortly.

His eye drifted around the rest of the room.  
>A large polished wood wardrobe which seemed to match the bed... a chest of drawers... a mirror... a small fireplace... and over on the wall opposite the balcony, a door.<p>

Standing quickly he paced over to the door, investigating.

He found himself looking ahead at another identical door. In between the two was a white bathroom.  
>Large was an understatement.<br>A long bench with two sinks and an ornate antique silver framed mirror over each offered space for toiletries (and the appalling proliferation of bottles and potions and objects he couldn't identify advertised that...Hermione.. was putting her side to use.)

Closest to his room there was a large shower with glass walls. A panel on the wall inside presented a row of small silver buttons. He frowned at it curiously.

Beyond the shower in the centre of the room there was a bath which was easily as large as his bed in the Slytherin dorm. It could have held four, comfortably. It was partially sunken into the floor and again, offered a confusing array of buttons and spigots in one corner.  
>On the far side of the bath there was a small partition, behind which there was a toilet.<p>

He glanced again at the other door. Beyond that was Hermione's room, obviously. He crept over to it cautiously, listening but hearing nothing.  
>He was tempted to enter but that would obviously be a bad idea. Instead he twisted the locking mechanism and turned away, stripping off his pyjamas and discarding them in the middle of the room.<p>

He decided upon a shower.

Fiddling with the buttons he managed to get water of a tolerable temperature to emerge from a relatively normal looking shower head and stepped inside. He couldn't suppress the gasp of pure pleasure at the sensation of the hot water all over his skin. It was beyond wonderful. It surpassed everything experienced thus far.

He strolled, still dripping from the shower back into his room and inspected the wardrobe.  
>True to Dumbledore's word, they were now populated with clothing.<br>It was all rather garish. But, among the red and purple and blue he managed to find some black trousers and a white shirt.

A faint click informed him that Hermione was now in the bathroom. Turning he was tempted to wandlessly unlock the door and stroll in as if unawares.

No.  
>Perhaps another time. He imagined he could gain a lot of amusement from her over time if he was only careful to prevent her from running squealing to Dumbledore or 'harry'.<p>

Instead, flinging open the doors to his balcony he lowered himself to sit on the stone in the sunlight, crossing his legs. The sun was so warm...bright... Everything was so...much more...here.

Faintly he heard a bird singing. It was a balm.

Closing his eyes he relaxed his mind again, letting himself slip into that peaceful stasis state that he had spent a significant portion of his most recent years in.  
>He could feel his magic thrumming around him gently... and he could feel all the other magic too. The castle was so bright... but there were so very many dots... blips of further brightness within it... all around.<p>

He felt a faint tingle at the back of his mind again but dismissed it as he allowed his perception to drift and distance itself from conscious thought.


	5. Chapter 5

"Tom!" Dumbledore's voice was sharp and exasperated.

He reeled his mind back in with some difficulty, shifting his gaze to the figure suddenly standing before him, leaning down and looking concerned. Blinking he offered a questioning expression.

"I have been calling you for several minutes, Tom. You did not respond when I knocked. Are you quite well? What exactly were you doing?"

He frowned up at the old wizard, thinking clearly "meditating."

Dumbledore's face tightened. "I take it you have not yet begun to speak then."

If he refused to talk with Dumbledore, the irritating man would undoubtedly continue to plunder his mind freely.  
>Tom sighed and forced himself to reply, his voice no more than a whisper. "I can speak."<p>

Dumbledore looked relieved. "Ah. That _is_ good news then."  
>"Perhaps you might come inside and we can have a chat. I'll have the elves bring tea and biscuits.<br>I had hoped you might have summoned them and asked them for breakfast. Had I realised you would not, I would have ordered something for you before I left."

Largely on general principles, Tom rose and followed him. Dumbledore's suggestions had never truly been suggestions for as long as he had known the man. And now... now that he was a leashed prisoner here, there would be little point in unnecessarily aggravating the wizard.

He seated himself willingly in the large comfortable chairs by the fire in the head common room. "Now then... perhaps we might start with the details of how you came to create the horcrux in the first place" Dumbledore said, smiling in a despicably kindly-old-man manner.

When it seemed that an answer was fully expected and silence would not put the goat off, Tom grit his teeth and murmured softly. "I simply wanted more time to learn... More time to discover things... Immortality seemed like the best solution. ...Magic most foule mentioned the name and piqued my interest but told nothing else"  
>"I eventually found more details in Bent, Whitherstone, Gorlash and Herpo's own lost manuscript."<br>"I thought if I used the right object...charmed in the right way... it might be able to self resurrect; might be _sentient_. ...But...I made an error."

He hesitated and then amended "_Several_ errors."  
>"The idea was flawed to begin with. Not even Herpo would have been masochistic enough to trap their <em>mind<em> in a horcrux."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "No...I don't believe he would have. Of course... Herpo was nearing two hundred when he created the spell, Tom. One gains a certain...perspective... with time. I'm certain you've noticed. Your logic was that of a highly intelligent fourteen year old wizard."

"I suppose... In a _certain_ sense it is an impressive achievement to have successfully completed such an advanced piece of magic while so young. That is not to say that it was a _commendable_ act. No... I am quite aware of the cost involved. I would not have thought you capable of _murder_ in your fourth year Tom... I shudder to imagine what else might have escaped my attention."

Tom just managed to suppress the small smirk. "Thank you." he replied softly and fiddled with the material of his trousers in a partially affected nervous manner.

"Do you think...sir...perhaps... you might..."

"Tell you about what occurred since you were placed in the horcrux, tom?"  
>"No. Not quite yet. I would like to speak about several other matters first. - Who was your victim, tom? How did you murder him? Tell me about the event and the casting."<p>

Sighing, tom told him. The afternoon dragged by in a wash of probing questions. His tea was ignored. He had _never_ been able to quite persuade himself to eat or drink anything offered by Dumbledore. One of the older Slytherins had informed him in his first year that the old man had been known to dose sweets and drinks with anything from calming potions to veritaserum.

By the time Dumbledore finally stated that tom looked quite tired and should rest before they _continued their conversation_, it was almost time for dinner and tom had told him all about the vagrant in the shrieking shack, the construction of the diary, the spells he had used, the libraries and acquaintances he had gained this information from and the environment within the diary.  
>In great detail.<br>He did _not_ mention anything of the chamber of secrets although Dumbledore had seemed to hint several times.

If the man had come flat out and demanded the information, tom would have refused. The chamber was _his. Not_ Dumbledore's... never... ever... Dumbledore's.  
>If it came out that Slytherin had a library in the chamber, Dumbledore would have him down there opening it and providing him the contents before he could blink, he was certain.<p>

Salazar Slytherin would revolve in his crypt if Albus Dumbledore ever laid hands on his most precious tomes.

It was unlikely Dumbledore would derive much use from the tomes as they were predominantly written in parseltongue, however he wouldn't put it past the man to find a way around that. If the worst came to the worst – he'd likely force tom to translate them. No. That could _not_ be allowed to happen.

He lay back in the chair massaging his temples after Dumbledore had departed through the floo. He was working up the motivation to take a diagnostic look at the necklace... the dog collar...Dumbledore had put on him.  
>Just at the moment he was not feeling quite up to it however... and he was experiencing a strange uncomfortable sensation in his abdomen. He suspected it might be hunger.<p>

He cracked an eye when the outer door to the common room opened and closed it again wearily when the curly haired girl from the previous night froze and gasped in the doorway.  
>Hadn't she <em>known<em> he would be here? Dumbledore would have told her, no doubt.  
>Her reaction was almost comical in its extremity.<p>

He heard the door close quietly.

"h..hello."  
>The voice drifted across the length of the room, tremulous and uncertain.<p>

He heard her take a couple of halting steps closer and sighed, opening his eyes and removing his fingers from his temples. He turned his head and gifted her with a polite smile.  
>He'd practiced this smile in front of the mirror years before until it had just the right amount of earnest, friendly vivre to woo all his professor's favour.<p>

'Hermione' swallowed and froze in place. He tried a soft "hello Hermione" and this seemed to disturb the girl even more if anything. She seemed intensely suspicious.

Sighing, he turned away again.

"Do you wish to use the common room?" he asked after a moment. "I can leave if you would like."

The slight wounded despondency had the desired effect. She took another few steps closer.

"er... No... No its quite alright...t-Tom... This is _your_ room too."

She shuffled her bag off her shoulder and held it in front of her defensively.

"I...usually study in the evenings before rounds anyway so... I won't be in your way much."  
>Her phrasing was pleasantly deferential, he noted. Not that he wouldn't be in her way, but that she wouldn't be in his.<p>

"What are you studying?"

She seemed to flounder for a moment at the question and managed to get out that she was taking everything except divination, and that she'd be working on advanced transfig and runes tonight.

He sat up a little more. Those were two of his best subjects before the diary. He was about to ask whether he might join her when she babbled something unintelligible and hurried off to her room.

When she returned after what must have been at least an hour, he had just finished his meal. It had consisted of a very small portion of the roast chicken and roast vegetables that the other students had had in the great hall, along with a tall glass of orange juice.  
>He hadn't managed to eat much of it although it had tasted wonderful;<br>the act of chewing and swallowing was delightful. However the sensation of the food in his belly was vaguely unpleasant.

He had just had an elf remove the half eaten repast when the door at the top of the stairs had opened and Hermione had returned. She was still wearing her uniform and looked like someone trying very hard to give the impression of nonchalance.

He watched her move to the desk and order her things, which were likely already perfectly sufficiently ordered.  
>She had her back to him and it was almost possible to detect the way she was <em>steeling<em> herself to show that she was not on her guard around him.

Smirking, he waved a subtle wandless silencing charm over his shoes and crept over to stand behind and slightly to the side of her.

"May I-"

he got no further. She shrieked and spun in shock, her eyes wide and seemingly expecting something on a par with evisceration. It was extraordinarily satisfying to watch.  
>He wondered whether she was frightened of <em>him<em>, knowing that he had murdered and practiced the dark arts, or whether it might not be his _other_ version that she truly feared.

"I'm sorry..." he offered apologetically. "I didn't mean to startle you. I only wanted to ask whether I might join you while you study." The rosebud lips parted and she sputtered slightly, apparently torn between the polite and the desirable response.  
>He could see she <em>wanted<em> to refuse and find some reason to retreat to her room again.

"It's only..." he hesitated and bit the corner of his lip in a show of adolescent insecurity  
>"-I don't have much to do... and I'd be quite interested in what is taught in the seventh year. I never had the chance to experience it."<p>

The girl seemed to collect herself. As he watched the various emotions flicker across her face he decided he needed to work on legilimency. It would be so convenient to simply read what was occurring beneath the surface.

"Thats...um...ok. You can sit with me while I work if you like. I...I'm not very good though... you'll find it very simple I suppose."  
>Again this deference. Was she <em>trying<em> to flatter him? He tilted his head and let the comment slide.

"I'll just get a chair then, shall I" he remarked, wondering whether it might prompt her to... apparently yes. Hermione flicked out a wand at the other chair across the room summoning it for him.  
>He intercepted it, pleased at the automatic manner in which she'd catered to him... served him. This could be fostered.<br>If the girl's intimidation was not merely fear but also admiration based, it could be very useful indeed.

"Thank you." He praised. "It is frustrating to think that my wand is likely gone forever. So many things I took for granted will be impossible now."

It was a lie, of course. Most things he could do with a wand he could now perform equally well wandlessly – but it would be a dangerous idea to allow anyone else to know that.

He seated himself, looking up at her with wide eyes. "I suppose Professor Dumbledore will have me work on something theoretical for him."  
>Hermione's brow furrowed slightly. "For him? What? He's going to let you work on magic?"<br>It was difficult to measure out the appropriate amount of affront to put into his expression. Hermione seemed to backpedal. "I...didn't mean that the way it sounded.  
>He shrugged and looked away, projecting an air of despondency.<p>

After a moment she sat down in the chair next to him and arranged her parchment and quill, opening her textbook and placing it between them both. He glanced at it curiously.  
>She was working on weightdensity manipulations by constant form.  
>It was not <em>basic <em>by any means... at least not for the average student.  
>He had mastered it before the diary. Perhaps he might offer her help at some point?<p>

The quiet scritch of her quill began. It seemed she was writing a brief report on what had been covered in class. He exercised patience and tried not to disturb her thoughts. Her face assumed a peculiar focussed expression when she was writing. It improved her rather sharp features considerably.

When she had completed the report, to judge by the lightening of her eyes and the small smile of satisfaction, he took the opportunity to draw her attention back to him once again.

"I wanted to thank you." He murmured softly. She looked over as if suddenly remembering that he was there and her posture stiffened.

"Thank me? Why?"

He tilted his head curiously. "Yes... thank you. I think your..._friend? .._might have seriously hurt me last night if you had not intervened."  
>She looked at him with a peculiar mix of relief and dubiousness.<br>His interest ramped up significantly. She had expected something _else_.  
>What else might Hermione have expected?<br>The connections sparked in his mind. He glanced down at her handwriting. It was familiar even though it was not the same. Her writing on the page was far neater. It flowed... it appeared more confident.  
>Had she perhaps used her left hand when she wrote in the diary?<p>

"You're welcome" the girl was saying. "I didn't expect harry to react quite that extremely. He-" she broke off and swallowed. "Well... he's...usually more reserved. He doesn't ever behave like that."

That was useful information. The idea that 'harry' was not usually an aggressive borderline sadistic individual strongly suggested that he had some extraordinary reason to be so with tom.

"Why does he hate me?" he asked quietly.

The girl bit her lip. He found his eye drawn to it uncontrollably. He wanted to tug her lip free with his thumb and taste it.

"Its...not exactly _you_ he hates" Hermione said, breaking the spell.

Blinking he decided he was going to have her. Irrespective the complications – Hermione would belong to him soon. This girl had found him... had obviously realised what the diary was immediately. It was due to her intelligence and will that he was free  
>– or at least... more favourably imprisoned.<br>With her.  
>Another might have - probably <em>had<em> - ignored the diary entirely, not realising what it was. Many who might have recognised it would likely have sought to destroy it.

For whatever reason, Hermione was seemingly not _ill_ disposed toward him.  
>He wondered whether she was still virginal. He knew any number of blood magic spells that made use of the act of breaking the maidenhead.<p>

"er... I have to read for runes now." Hermione hushed nervously.  
>He made a go ahead gesture and leaned back in his seat to watch her.<br>"..It could take a while" she added, all but spelling out 'stop looking at me now'  
>He shrugged again. She opened the book and nervously began to read...decipher... the thick text, her tight expression betraying her ongoing awareness of his attention.<p>

"Why did you save me?" he asked softly.

Hermione flinched and started with a word he could tell was going to be 'Harry-'

He shook his head. "I recognise your handwriting. You found me. Why did you choose to save me?"

The conflicted guilty glimmer that flashed through her eyes disappointed but did not surprise him. She thought to use him to some end. But...perhaps it had not been her _only_ thought. The mere presence of guilt now was actually encouraging.

He listened to her excuses about morally bound to report her finding to Dumbledore and that she had not been the one to choose to save him.

Ignoring it all and laying that particular thread aside for the moment he asked "The boy... from last night... _Harry._ Are you and he dating?"

The way her mouth formed a perfect little O of shock was gratifying. If they _had_ been dating she would have been somewhat less horrified.  
>"No!" she managed, sounding like she couldn't believe he'd even ask. "Someone else then?" he probed immediately.<br>The frown was unmistakeably a yes to him.

Yes... she was dating another wizard. Asking who would not be of any use since he could not presently leave this place and knew no one here. She would not answer anyway.  
>It hardly mattered. It was sufficient to learn that she was already...spoken for... and that he would need to remove this competitor if he wished to have her.<p>

She was retorting furiously "I don't see what business-" He displayed a soft, conciliatory smile and stood, cutting her off.  
>"Forgive me. It was inexcusably impolite to ask. I was...curious. I will leave you in peace for the evening. I didn't mean to upset you."<br>He reached his hand as if to place it on her shoulder and then stopped an inch away and withdrew it as if thinking better of the gesture, looking down and turning away.

He could _feel_ her eyes following him as he crossed the common room and climbed his stairs.


	6. Chapter 6

He _felt_ it when the other boy entered the common room below. That tingle... the strange little feeling in his mind. He compared it to the feeling of Dumbledore's legilimency but it was very different.  
>It was peculiar that he could feel anything at all at the distance 'harry' would have to be at to be at the door of the common room. Nevertheless...<p>

Perhaps it was some kind of binding spell? Something that connected that boy and the dark dour professor Snape to him for security?  
>Something that reported on his actions?<br>That would be possible he realised. He had after all been probing concentratedly at the binding necklace for the last hour and a half. If there were some way of registering his thoughts or movements or the use of magic, it was possible that it had alerted harry and brought him here to investigate.

Standing quickly he moved to the door, needing to confirm what that tingle was telling him.

He opened the door quietly and slipped down the stairs, his eyes on the bookcase as if in search of something to read.

The flinch and halt was almost entirely artificial.  
>The component of it which was <em>not<em> simulated was due to the tableau of Hermione in the _comforting_ arms of a tall red headed boy.

Harry was standing several steps away and looking at tom with that hateful expression again, his wand drawn.

The other two only noticed he was there from the reaction of their friend.  
>He looked between the three of them. The red head was now also fixing him with a murderous glare and had released Hermione to draw his own wand.<p>

"Harry! Ron! Stop!" Hermione cried, seeing where the two boy's intents were focused.  
>Ron was his name then. Ron was her beau.<br>Tom wondered idly whether she had given herself to him. Their embrace had seemed quite chaste. Of course there were pros and cons to chastity. It would be easier to bring her to fall if she had already given herself to other wizards... but if she were virginal, it would be possible to possess her fully.  
>It could be very useful to have the dedicated service of what <em>Albus Dumbledore<em> termed the greatest mind to pass through Hogwarts since his own graduation.

Since the two boys were ignoring her and the redhead had actually dared to _raise his wand_ now, Tom thought he had better inject some reason here.

"I apologise" he offered neutrally. "I couldn't sleep and thought I'd read. I didn't mean to interrupt." He turned about to return to his room.

"_That's_ Voldemort?" the voice in the room he didn't know spat incredulously, blatantly ignoring the "Ron ! NO!..Be quiet" that his girlfriend was urging.

"It's a little _kid. _I thought he'd be...bigger... or something... or more like the ferret at least."

Tom smirked inwardly, thanking the twit. Voldemort. It seemed that his aims had indeed come to some fruition. That cleared up that question. Hermione feared him because of his other self... his _primary_ self... the avatar he had created and named Lord Voldemort.  
>He wondered what he had achieved as lord Voldemort... what he was doing right now.<p>

Turning around he met the eyes of the redhead.  
>He had narrow priggish eyes of a paler blue than Tom's own deep royal tones. He was freckled. He was...<em>avoiding meeting tom's gaze<em>.  
>How wonderful. This one was afraid of him too, despite his bravado.<p>

Hermione looked unsure what to do and seemed on the brink of leaping between them.

Walking a step closer, Tom barely noticed the way harry stiffened and clenched his wand tighter.

"Why do you call me that? What does it mean?" He asked quizzically. "My name is Tom Riddle. I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

The redhead snarled and muttered something about it not being any bloody pleasure to meet a slimy murdering bastard like him, before Hermione actually did step in and insist "that's enough. I'll speak with you tomorrow Ron. Harry – it would be better if you both left, don't you think?"

The redhead actually _whined_. "But..._Mione!_.." and darted a glance up toward her bedroom.

The sharp flare of anger tom felt was easily suppressed. He turned his eyes toward harry and raised an eyebrow. "So. What... or who's Voldemort then? Did the other me end up changing his name? Is this somehow a big secret?"

He took a half step toward the green eyed boy, who raised his wand threateningly.  
>It didn't matter. Tom felt all he needed to know. The tingle grew when he neared the boy.<br>He resisted the temptation to probe at it with his mind.

"Mione's right, Ron. Come on. We're leaving."  
>He looked at Hermione seriously. "Are you <em>sure <em>you're alright here? You can come with us you know."  
>Hermione looked from face to face, uncertain and angry and now embarrassed too. "I'm <em>fine<em> Harry. Tom hasn't done or...or said _anything_ to deserve this treatment.

A spell flashed for a moment as harry pre-emptively silenced Ron who now seemed to be arguing vehemently against this description of tom's current threat potential and just desserts.

"Shut up, mate." Harry grumbled and backed up slightly, turning, with great will power forcing himself to display his unguarded back, and stalking to the door.  
>The redhead followed a moment later, but not before shooting tom a poisonous glare and mouthing what was probably a choice threat.<p>

When the door had closed Hermione huffed and sighed, looking conflicted.  
>"I'm sorry about that" she commented after a moment. "Ron...well... that <em>is<em> kind of typical for him. Don't take it personally. He's a bit of a hothead and doesn't always think things through."

Tom took a step toward her and raised his eyebrows as if surprised.  
>"I have to admit he's not...exactly... the type I imagined you'd gravitate to. But...perhaps I'm missing something about him. He seemed a fairly uncouth and petty fellow.<br>_Nevertheless..._ perhaps he is capable of providing _other_ benefits, even if he cannot offer stimulating conversation."

He ignored the way she'd turned bright red and seemed to be sputtering again and advanced a few more steps closer  
>"-After all.. Why would you pursue a boor if he were not at <em>least<em> sexually proficient?"

"I do not _yet_ know you (the words.. although I would like to.. seemed to hang unspoken in the air as he moved slowly nearer) but I have observed you to be a highly intelligent and capable witch"  
>He watched as she flushed deeper in confused, angry, overwrought frustration and continued<br>"Not to mention...quite _attractive_.."

Her inadequately hidden disbelief explained all to him. The 'witch of the generation' was with the red headed boy because she lacked the self esteem to realise that he was below her.

"-and so I'm certain ...Ron... must have...at least..._most_ of the qualities you look for in a partner, whatever they may be. I suppose not every witch desires a partner as capable as herself..."

He could see the witch was preparing to explode into rage. Any second now. He hurried to get the final lash in. "-then again... Perhaps you simply gave up on looking for one. It is... as they say – _lonely_ at the top. Perhaps you resigned yourself to a world of simplifying your thoughts for the benefit of other weaker minds."

"SHUT UP!"

He complied immediately, now only a few steps away. He'd expected more, somehow. She'd looked fit to curse him. But this cold hiss of fury was markedly restrained.

"Don't think I don't know what you're doing. It's clearly _you_ that assumes the rest of the world is too slow to notice your manipulations."  
>"My personal life, my friends and possible relationships are none of your concern, Tom."<br>"You can not undermine my confidence in Ron... you _won't_ succeed in driving a wedge between Harry and myself, no matter what you do. The only reason I haven't told them about...the little things you've done to unnerve me...is because if I did, they'd make sure I was out of here and I am _not_ giving up the head girl's quarters for _you." _

He smiled and stepped one further step, to the edge of her personal space, delighted at seeing the confidence in her eyes waver suddenly as she retreated a pace automatically.  
>She was half a head taller than he; He decided he didn't like that. She should be below him looking up.<br>"Is that the _only_ reason?" he enquired curiously. She didn't reply, but her eyes widened and her lips tightened.  
>His smile grew a little as he advanced a tiny step on her again, and again she retreated.<p>

"You could hex me... I'm unarmed..." he mused aloud. "You could run... I'd almost certainly not _chase_ you... "  
>"On the other hand...I <em>haven't<em> done anything to suggest i'd hurt you...unless challenging your perceptions and complimenting you is to be considered harmful... and after all – you want my help, don't you?"

The moment he said it he knew it to be the truth. Not in the way the girl reacted, which was telling enough, but in the symmetry of it. It fit. Hermione had already retreated so far that she was against the desk looking furtively at the stairs to her room. She was obviously actually considering running.

He stepped the two steps closer and while she was distracted and startled by his proximity, darted his hand forward, lifting her wand with a pickpocket's grace.  
>It was foolish of her not to have drawn it already.<p>

He had her fixed in place by her feet on the floor and her hands on the desk behind her before she could blink.

While she reacted and struggled and snarled, he turned and stepped away a couple of paces, examining the wand he held. It was a light brown shaft of perhaps eleven inches. The wood was striated with lighter lines in a vaguely pleasing pattern.  
>It felt sluggish and wrong in his hand although it <em>had <em>obeyed him sufficiently... which suggested to him that it wasn't a purely light wand – he'd never had any success with any light cores. Unicorn hair, hippogriff claw... they were all so much dead wood to him.

When he turned back to Hermione she flinched back, her eyes darting between his face and her wand.  
>"What are you going to do?" she whispered.<br>To her credit her voice was steady.

He moved closer again and placed the wand on the desk three inches to the side of her affixed hand.

"Well... I'm certainly not going to _curse_ you." he murmured "But I do think it's time we spoke bluntly with one another."  
>"Dumbledore does like to varnish the truth. It would be impossible to prevent him from doing so I imagine. ...But I expect...<em>more<em>... from you."

As he spoke he moved until he could stand close enough to catch the scent of her hair again.  
>It was different. She smelled of apples today. He suppressed the tiny disappointment inside.<br>No doubt she had changed it intentionally because she'd become aware that he liked it.

He noticed she was trembling. Her eyes were a little glassy as thought she were trying not to cry. "Ok..." she answered in a small voice. "What do you want to talk about, Tom?"

He took a deep breath, letting his head tip back slightly and enjoying her supplicating tone. "Let's begin with...Voldemort."  
>Her eyes darted in slight panic. He decided to put her out of her misery.<p>

"_Lord_ Voldemort. I am quite aware he is out there somewhere. I should thank him; if I ever meet him – although he left me in the diary to rot...  
>if not for him – I <em>highly<em> doubt Dumbledore would have bothered to retrieve me.  
>You all would like to <em>use<em> me you see." He raised a hand and brushed the pads of his fingers over her jaw. She turned her head and flinched away, looking like a spooked animal.

"You want to use me to get into his head... anticipate his behaviour... perhaps even his past actions.  
>I wouldn't put it past Dumbledore to find some way to use me to <em>track<em> him."

Hermione was definitely shaking now. "What are you going to do to me?" she whispered and there was almost a hint of whimper in it.

He snorted.  
>"Are you in pain? We are having a conversation, Hermione. One that I did not believe you would remain still for under other conditions."<p>

"Do you concede that Dumbledore placed you here... in such close..._proximity..._to me-"  
>he trailed a fingertip down her side slowly, ignoring her attempts to move away<br>"-in order to hopefully..._befriend_ the impressionable fourteen year old and wrap him around your little finger?"

Her face said it all. He wondered how Dumbledore had phrased it. 'Oh Hermione.. do you think you might whore yourself out to a murderer for information gathering purposes? It would be a big help'

He let his hand rest on her hip possessively and raised an eyebrow.

"yes." She bit out reluctantly.

Allowing a small smile to twist his lips again he continued. "I'm certain you must have _realised_ the subtext... the implication."  
>"You are intelligent enough to realise the <em>position<em> the professor urged you into, almost certainly _pushed_ you into through guilt and your oh so Gryffindor sense of honour."

Her eyes hardened stonily and she didn't respond. He reached out and caught one of her soft brown ringlets, wrapping it around a finger, distracted for a moment by how soft it felt.  
>Had he ever touched another person in this way? He didn't think he had.<br>It was exciting. Allowable because she was currently entirely at his mercy.

"I was already _interested_ in you last night, but Dumbledore sold me on the idea this morning when he described you as... i quote..."the greatest mind to pass through Hogwarts since my own graduation".  
>"I think he did it intentionally... don't you?"<p>

Her eyes were like windows betraying her surprise. Before she could ask again what he was going to do with her he plunged on.

"And so I have decided that I _will_ help you. That is to say - I will help _YOU._ Not Dumbledore or any of the others."  
>This was <em>his <em>play and I rather doubt he will backtrack now, irrespective how you might present the case to him for doing so."

"I will spend time with _you_. Alone."  
>"You were supposed to observe me... learn about me, I assume? Well... your task will be much easier now. Which brings us to the next question." He smiled as she seemed to steel herself for something even worse.<p>

"I would like you for to explain to me why you are dating that redhead. Name the reasons."

After she'd essentially listed the primary criteria of all Gryffindors and he'd displayed his raised eyebrow scepticism, he asked her what the criteria of her ideal match _were_ exactly. She refused to answer.

He snorted and turned away for a moment, uncertain how far to push the girl right now.  
>He certainly had no intention of attempting to force her into any form of sexual service. No... That would ruin everything later.<br>He sighed inwardly. He had the most unwise temptation to taste her lips.  
>Glancing back at her thoughtfully... her <em>trembling<em> bottom lip was just begging to be nipped.

He moved closer once more and leaned in against her. She shook but did not pull away as he slung his arms casually about her waist and spoke softly.

"You will have to break up with him, you know."  
>He ignored her sudden sharp defiant expression. It was on her lips to shout her refusal.<p>

"..Oh I am not attempting to _force _you to do so. I would not dream of doing anything so crude. It's quite up to you...I'm merely stating a fact."  
>"You will have to end whatever misguided little flirtation you have engaged in with the boy. I am going to require... a <em>lot<em>...in fact I would go so far as to say _all_ of your time outside of your academic responsibilities."

"The less often you are here, actively seeking out my company, the less inclined to spend time with you I shall be when you _are _here and, conversely, the more preoccupied I shall become with the particular charms and binding spells on the doors, floo and this wonderful necklace that Dumbledore gave me."

"It is obvious that spending so _much_ time here... alone... with me... and avoiding _Ron's_ no doubt _scintillating_ company, will cause the poor wretch to become quite distressed."  
>"He does seem the jealous paranoid type to me.".<p>

"Also..just between the both of us, I rather suspect that..._Ron_... is not a particularly alert or aware fellow and is quite liable to have an accident if he is in these rooms too often guarding you  
>...or Salazar-forbid <em>attempting<em> _to threaten me_."

Hermione was as still as a statue. Even her shaking had stopped.  
>He glanced up at the amber eyes that were staring over his shoulder at the round rug, unseeing.<br>She looked _haunted._

He smiled. "I see you are _accepting_ the logic of my words, Hermione."  
>Turning his head, he caught the apple fragrance of her hair again, frowning slightly.<p>

"I would also prefer you to use the peach scent in your hair that you were wearing last night."

He had the delight of feeling her shiver and tightened his arms around her marginally, enjoying it.

The half breathed 'ok' was almost inaudible.

Unwinding his arms from around the slender waist he moved back to scrutinise her expression.  
>He wasn't certain whether she was terrified and attempting to show strength or unaffected and attempting to feign terror. It was intriguing.<p>

He placed his hand subtly on her wand. "I'm going to have to ask you to give me your _honest _word not to run off to Dumbledore or anyone else to tell tales of the things that happen between us, Hermione. Otherwise you'll be forcing me to place you under a geas. I would like to have _some_ secrets from the man."  
>"And so...what we do when we are alone...will be <em>our <em>little secret. Do you understand?"

The balance on her face had shifted again toward more convincing horror and fear as she nodded slowly.

"Promise me" he prompted lightly.  
>She made the promise.<p>

He smiled as he felt her wand heat under his hand.

He wondered whether she knew it. It very rarely happened that another held one's wand after all and the practice had been abandoned so long ago. Even in his own time one had made wand oaths while holding one's own wand in hand.

And that was still necessary for general oaths pertaining to behaviour.

However, there was another form of wand oath - it was more closely related to the unbreakable oath than the standard wand oath.  
>In this form one made the oath to a specific person who held one's own wand during the casting.<p>

To break such an oath would not render one a squib...necessarily. It would merely place the control over one's ability to use magic at the whim of the one to whom the oath was made.  
>He rather hoped she discounted the magical nature of the promise she'd made and tried to break it. It would be wonderful to have her magic at his disposal to turn on and off like a faucet.<p>

Sighing he dispelled the fixation charms on her hands and feet and placed the wand back on the desk, stepping away. Hermione did not move, merely watched him warily, as if to risk taking up her wand and hexing him might only provoke greater threat.  
>It would, naturally.<br>At present he preferred her not to know of his wandless magic, however.

He gestured magnanimously toward the stairs up to her room and she snatched up the wand and skittered away immediately, fairly pelting up the stairs and slamming the door after her.

He felt several wards being laid in quick succession


	7. Chapter 7

The night was long again. Tom still could not quite manage to sleep, although he found it dangerously easy to slip into the still meditative state that he had habitually taken in the diary.  
>He wondered whether it was performing the same function. Whether it was actually resting his body in any way.<p>

He roused himself from the trancelike state again at three in the morning and turned his attention to the necklace. It was more complex than he grasped. It would be.. difficult... to properly examine it without a wand.

Of course.. there _was_ a wand only two rooms away, he mused.

Hermione had raised a number of wards, however he anticipated that he would have greater success dispelling those than achieving significant progress with the necklace this evening if he remained wandless.

Rising, Tom paced to the bathroom, moving closer to the other connecting door warily. The hum of multiple martial wards teased his senses. It seemed that the girl was _quite_ capable..The wards were formidable.

He lowered himself gracefully to sit crosslegged on the floor. This would take some time.. and a fine touch.

It took two thoroughly entertaining hours, in fact.  
>He had expected it to take longer, he realised. It was amazing how well he could focus. It seemed like the years...decades.. of unrecordable abstract thought had lent him the ability to hold a multitude of complex ideas in his mind at once.. he could threadle ward strands with hardly more difficulty than it took to juggle runic permutations in his head.<br>He unwound the first two interconnected wards at once. The third, which was apparently keyed to her wand, took longer. In the end he reattached the warning strands to the wall, building the webbing carefully and refraining from severing anything before he had firmly anchored it elsewhere.  
>When he was finished, he was able to stand and unlock the door with a simple alohamora.<p>

Within, the room was dark and still. Quiet sounds of regular breathing reassured him that the girl had not woken during his dismantling of her wards.  
>He used a charm to improve his night vision. The room sprang into clearer relief.<p>

She lay on her back, her head tossed to the side, facing away from him. Her hair was spread over her pillow. The blankets were disordered, as if she had been tossing and turning.  
>Confirming this, as he watched she wriggled and turned over, curling into a foetal position facing him. He saw that she had curled around her wand, which she held gripped in both hands like some peculiar teddy bear.<p>

Had he unsettled her _so_ greatly?

He cast a wandless silencing charm on his person and moved closer cautiously  
>Once or twice the witch stirred and he paused, remaining still, until she settled again.<p>

He approached till he could kneel at the side of her bed.. no more than a half metre away from her. She had her wand clenched tightly, as if she were _afraid_ that he might take it from her again.  
>Well..that was reasonable, considering he had every intention of doing so.<br>It was already five in the morning. She would be waking soon and he did not have time to waste.

He whispered a soft somnus charm. Hermione did not so much as _shiver_ as he placed the charm upon her. She seemed to relax in its wake. In all probability when she woke she would be more rested than she otherwise would have been, he thought to himself as he gently worked the wand loose from her death grip.

After he had claimed it he turned and seated himself on the floor, leaning against the end of her bed to examine the necklace.

As he had expected, the wand was of great use. With Mulliards revealing lattices he could see how painfully intricate the spells on the necklace were.  
>There were <em>many<em> more than he had expected. Perhaps as many as twenty.  
>He couldn't imagine what Dumbledore might have thought to include beyond tracking and binding charms.. There were far too many layers.<br>Perhaps some were foils.. certainly a great number were probably traps and warning charms.

He groaned at the amount of work it would be. This would take ..days.. possibly even weeks, if he couldn't access Hermione's wand every day.

He set to work charting the interlinkages, trying to divine the purposes of some of the layers through them.  
>it wasn't for a half hour that he realised that he <em>could<em> be writing this down now. He summoned a piece of parchment and quill from Hermione's bag and quickly began making notes.

When a tempus confirmed that it was almost seven in the morning he decided that it would be best to return the next evening, rather than risk a confrontation now. Carefully he slipped the wand back into the girl's clenched fists. She grasped it immediately and seemed to sigh in soft relief.

He lingered a moment, recognising that it was unwise, but wishing to simply enjoy her presence a small while longer. Lowering himself cautiously to his knees at the side of her bed, he tilted his head to look at her.

What it might be like to slip into bed next to her? Exactly how panicked and upset might she be if she woke to find him there?..

Very.. Extremely in fact. He was certain.  
>He gently brushed a curl from her cheek and sighed.<br>In time. In time he would lie beside her whenever he pleased.

Her lips tempted him again..  
>But he wished his first kiss to be with a partner who was not only awake, but desirous of receiving it. He would not steal a kiss from her now.<p>

He stood again swiftly and retreated back to the bathroom. It took very little effort to replace the wards he had modified and only a small amount more to recast those he'd destroyed. Soon enough he was back in his room, looking about, wondering what to do with himself.

Occlumency.  
>That was the most vital item on his internal agenda. If Dumbledore could see what he was attempting with the necklace.. or with Hermione too, for that matter, no doubt his life would become significantly less comfortable in short order.<br>If the wizard even suspected he was _hiding_ things from him, he would become quite menacing, Tom expected.  
>Therefore it was insufficient to simply <em>occlude<em>.. he needed to create a more intricate and subtle system of defences against the legilimentic probe.  
>He had read a number of books on the subject over the years.. he had <em>not<em> really had much opportunity to put them into practice however. There was a notable dearth of attacking minds in his empty world and occlumency was only trainable under conditions of attack.  
>He walked to his bed thoughtfully and, after a moment's hesitation, disrobed himself and climbed between the soft sheets. It was.. pleasant.. to feel them against him.<br>Strange how the smallest things had become pleasure.

Layers.. Levels.. It was important to design them in such a way that they could not be easily detected.. nor entered.. At best - those entering should not be capable of understanding the information found within.  
>It was also vital that he not reveal any sensitive information through their design.. such as the geography of the chamber of secrets. That would be an extraordinarily poor choice of base environment.<p>

He thought for a while and settled upon the forbidden forest.  
>There was so much within it that could be twisted into defense systems.<br>So many places to order and hide storage depots.. compartments... ladders and.. of course.. snakes..  
>He set to organising his mind.<p>

Dumbledore knocked politely upon his door several hours lately. This time he was able to rouse himself from the meditative state in which he'd been quietly filing his memories and thoughts around the constructed forbidden forest in his head. He was not up or dressed and was about to respond to this effect when the door opened and the wizard poked his head in impatiently. Tom frowned at him and folded his arms irritably over his bare chest.  
>Dumbledore reddened slightly and withdrew again.<br>"Pardon me, Tom. I thought you might be caught in a trance once again. I shall wait ..somewhat longer.. in future. If you would be so good as to rise and dress, we shall continue our conversation of yesterday."

Inwardly Tom groaned.  
>Irritating old goat.<br>he had not imagined for a second that he would escape a continuation of the polite interrogation he had been subjected to the previous afternoon.. but it annoyed him nonetheless to be so summarily pressed to reveal his most private thoughts and memories to a man he had always loathed.  
>He had <em>never<em> managed to sustain gratitude for any significant length of time.

Grudgingly he pulled back the covers and slipped out of bed. He ignored the clothing he had discarded on the floor by the bed and moved to the bathroom. If Dumbledore wanted to pick his brain again, he could wait until after he had washed and dressed.  
>He enjoyed his shower even more than the one he had had yesterday due to the warm glow of the knowledge that Dumbledore was likely sitting irritably downstairs waiting impatiently for him.<p>

When he finally descended the stairs, he was disappointed to see that the old man was sitting talking quite amiably with Hermione. He strained to prevent the small disapproving glance from reaching his face.  
>Hermione seemed much calmer around Dumbledore. She obviously felt safe with him.<br>He wondered whether he _desired_ her to feel safe in his own presence. Perhaps she would be less interesting if her intimidation were no longer present.  
>Crossing the room quietly, he lowered himself to the sofa, presently empty as the other two occupied the chairs.<p>

"Breakfast, Tom?" Dumbledore offered in a voice that was wretchedly bright and chipper.

"No thank you Sir. I am not hungry" he responded politely.

Dumbledore looked inexplicably disappointed. Perhaps he had been hoping to slip him some laced item or other. He turned to Hermione. "What do you think you might do today, my dear?" he enquired nosily. Hermione hesitated. Her eyes flicked to Tom momentarily and he bristled inwardly. It was blatantly obvious that whatever she was thinking to do today – clearly a Saturday, if the question was being posed at all – was not anticipated to involve him.

She confirmed this a moment later.

"I thought I might go to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron and some of the others.." she said hesitantly.  
>Dumbledore's disappointed expression reappeared momentarily and Tom watched Hermione shift her gaze uneasily.<br>"However.. I suppose I could always go out with them another day" she conceded.  
>Tom rolled his eyes subtly.<p>

"I believe that Harry has another engagement today." Dumbledore informed her quietly. "Professor Snape has agreed to spend some time tutoring him."  
>At this Tom's interest was piqued. The green eyed boy required a tutor in Potions?<p>

"Oh." Hermione said softly, avoiding eye contact.

"Yes.. I'm sure that Harry would much prefer to go to Hogsmeade" Dumbledore continued.. "However it would not do to tempt him to that end. He really _must_ improve, you know."  
>There was a moment of hesitation. "Perhaps Ronald might like to spend the day with you?"<p>

The implication was clear as crystal to Tom. Hermione would _not_ be going to Hogsmeade, with or without 'Harry'. Ronald could however spend the day here with her.

"Er.. No.. No I think he was set on looking at something to do with quidditch today." She answered quickly.  
>He wondered whether her response was due to the wish to keep 'Ronald' from spending time in the head students' quarters after he had threatened him last night, whether she did not think that the redhead would <em>choose<em> to spend time with her.. or whether she did not actually _wish_ to spend time with him alone. He found that he didn't mind which it might be.

"Ah well then. Would you like to remain here while Tom and I ..chat? or would you rather take breakfast in the great hall with your friends"  
>Another wonderful example of Gryffindor subtlety at its horrendous best.<br>He may as well have opened the door and drop kicked the girl into the corridor. She mumbled a quick response and had escaped the room in less than a minute. He watched the door close behind her with mixed feelings.

"How are you getting along with Hermione, Tom?" the Headmaster probed disingeniously.

"I believe she may be terrified of me" he responded with barely a moment's hesitation.  
>He did believe she might be afraid.. He also considered that she might simply be a convincing actor. She was certainly..nervous.. of him.. But that did not necessarily equate to the same thing. Fear and due caution were different things. She was..a lure. It was quite clear. It would be reasonable to consider that she might be adequately capable of defending herself.<p>

"Yes.. unfortunately it does rather seem that way" Dumbledore responded sadly. "Have you _done_ anything perhaps to provoke her concern?"

Tom debated various answers to this question. After a few seconds he answered "After you left me in the infirmary.. The boy 'Harry' surprised me.. She was with him there. He..attacked me..and she protected me from him.."  
>Dumbledore's pale blue eyes showed no sign of reaction to this. Tom wondered whether Hermione had already discussed the event with him.<p>

"I..tried to be friendly to her. I tried to sit with her as she studied. It seemed only to unsettle her. Last night Harry and ...Ronald.. visited.  
>...They truly do not seem to like me very much..<br>Afterward I asked her about..Ronald.. I think my questions bothered her. I..was simply curious what she could possibly see in such an oafish fellow. You had told me of her intelligence..  
>...She seemed to take offense."<p>

Dumbledore looked thoughtful. His eyes drifted off to the left.

"Yes... I confess, I have wondered that myself occasionally. They do not seem to have a large amount in common.. with the exception of their friendship with Harry, that is.  
>I suspect that Hermione realises this herself. It is perhaps why she tends to be somewhat oversensitive to questions of that type."<br>The blue eyes sharpened.  
>"are you certain that you gave her no <em>other<em> reason to be wary of you?"

Tom wondered, delighted, whether the girl might have _already_ broken her promise and tried to speak to Dumbledore of the events of last night. If so then she would soon find exactly how utterly at his mercy she was.

He took the time to appear to think carefully.

"Perhaps.." he conceded finally.  
>"I did let her know that I had liked her peach shampoo. It was not entirely ..appropriate.. to compliment her in that way. Perhaps I was overly familiar with her and it made her uncomfortable.<br>I should not have done it. ...it...slipped out."  
>He shifted on the sofa uneasily, simulating a nervous fourteen year old with a mild crush on an older student. Technically it was what he was, in a certain sense..<br>A very.. restricted..sense. Which also did not take account of his fifty or so years that he had on Hermione.

Dumbledore looked at him pensively for a while. Tom wondered if the man felt guilty for placing a sixteen year old girl in a vulnerable position.

"Ah well.. If that was all it was" he answered quietly. "I am certain she will forgive you for it." He seemed to abandon the topic like a child with a new toy.

"Perhaps we might return to the topic of your plans regarding future Horcruxes.

Tom groaned deep inside the forest in his mind.

Dumbledore stayed for _hours._  
>They had begun speaking before breakfast... and the white bearded old goat didn't leave him alone again till the time was nearing late afternoon.<p>

Tom was _exhausted_ by the time he left.

He had quizzed him on his opinions of all those with whom he had attended school. He had asked him about places he had visited .. places he had _wanted_ to visit at some point.  
>It could easily have been mistaken for a friendly chat between a Professor and a student.<br>Except that Tom was under no illusions that the man was looking for potential affiliates.. possible locations in which he might have hidden his future horcruxes.

The Headmaster spent a long time discussing his early years in the orphanage with him. Tom couldn't quite work out to what end that topic was conceived until the man _apologised_ to him for his negligence in leaving him within the unsuitable environment over the entire duration of his school years.  
>Dumbledore had, it seemed, come to the conclusion, over the last half century, that he might have been better served by removing Tom from the cold, abusive prison of an institution. It seemed that the man felt some measure of...responsibility for Tom's fate.<p>

He wondered again just what that fate contained.

It seemed pointless to ask however, It was clear that Dumbledore would not now, and probably would not in the future, reveal to him anything which might provoke him to be more circumspect in the information he provided.

After he had left, Tom dropped down onto the sofa wearily.  
>He felt stretched. Thin.<p>

A large orange cat strutted, stiff backed, across the hearth. He watched it blankly. It turned a squash-faced disdainful stare upon him.

"If you wish me to stroke you, you will have to come here" he informed it quietly.

Surprisingly it swished its tail for a moment and then stalked over to him, moving within his reach.  
>An extraordinarily intelligent cat then, he thought to himself, filing the information away. He should best treat the animal as a potential spy.. a vulnerability to be kept in mind.<br>He stroked its spine gently with a cupped hand. It arched against him, turning in small circles and rubbing up against his hand.  
>After a while the cat leapt up onto the couch and curled into an orange ring of fur next to him. He hesitated and then shifted himself to his side, to make more room for it. He curled an arm around the creature lightly and closed his eyes. Yawning he tried again to sleep.<p>

"Crookshanks?" the alarmed voice disturbed him. He startled and looked up to find that Hermione was standing at the foot of the sofa, looking at him as if she had caught him in the process of skinning the animal with a quarter inch root-grater. The orange cat twitched an ear and didn't bother to stir. Its manner seemed to scream "what do you want? I'm comfortable"

"I'm ..sorry, Tom. He was supposed to be locked in my room. I have no idea how he managed to get out! I'll put him away right now."

Tom rolled his eyes and lifted his arm, offering her access to the contentedly curled animal. She rushed forward and scooped it up quickly, retreating up the stairs at once.  
>She didn't return for a long time.<br>He was considering going up to his room and working on organising his forest compartmentalisation for a while when the sound of her hesitant footfalls on the stair made him pause.  
>It was unmistakeable in the way she scowled slightly when she saw he still lay upon the sofa that she had hoped he would be gone.<br>He looked up at her blankly and then turned his gaze back to the fire.

She looked at the door to the quarters longingly.. and then looked back to him.  
>Apparently she wished to go out, but felt some duty to remain with him, since he was downstairs.<br>He could solve that dilemma for her quite easily, he reasoned, standing tiredly and scuffing to his stairs, climbing them wearily and letting himself into his bedroom. He closed the door after himself quietly and dragged himself to his bed, tossing himself down upon it with mild irritation.

The girl was either an extremely good actor and strategist or she truly was intimidated by him and would really have preferred not to have this task thrust upon her.

There was a timid knock on his door.

"Come in" he muttered, just loudly enough for her to catch it.

He heard the door open but didn't bother to remove his arm from over his eyes. He lay sideways on the large bed. The last rays of sundown cast the entire room into orange glowing flame at this hour and the light was hurting his eyes.

"..Are you alright?" she asked uneasily.

"Fine" he answered curtly. "Consider your duty done. You can go and spend the evening with your friends.. and boyfriend.. with a clear conscience now."

He heard her shuffle her feet slightly. Then the soft steps approached.  
>He raised his arm slightly and scowled at her.<p>

"I'm.. sorry.. for leaving you alone so long.. I..didn't-.."  
>She didn't finish the sentence. He wondered what she had intended to say. Whatever it had been – it was obviously not true.<p>

He lifted his arm from over his eyes.  
>"Did you tell Dumbledore then?" he asked neutrally.<p>

"No." she said quietly, after a moment.

His eyes drifted to her thoughtfully. Had she realised?

"You can sit with me.. " he offered, managing to sound reluctant. "I'm sure that you are supposed to speak with me about any number of things that the Headmaster wishes to know. Come and sit down and I will discuss whatever you wish."

She lingered for a moment longer at the foot of the bed indecisively before she walked around to the other side and positioned herself on the remotest end of the bed from him. He rolled his eyes.  
>"I had not actually intended to leap upon you, you know" he muttered.<p>

She snorted. "I'd like to see you try it! I'll hex you into next week! I won't lose my wand to you again, Tom!" she threatened, sounding more sure of herself.  
>He smirked. Could that be interpreted as a challenge?<br>It certainly could, he thought to himself.

"So... tell me about yourself" he demanded quietly. "I know nothing whatsoever about you beyond your first name and the subjects you are taking" he lied.  
>She made an irritated little sound that he decided was quite pleasing. He determined to oblige her to make it much more often.<p>

"You invited me to sit so that you could tell me about _yourself_ Tom, not interrogate _me_.."

He turned his head up toward her, smiling wryly, "You already know a great deal about me. If I am to come to speak with you in a friendly manner.. if you wish me to reveal all my dastardly little secrets.. You are going to have to at least _attempt_ to build a rapport.  
>Perhaps Dumbledore should have placed the head boy with me in these quarters – I take it from the combination of colours and symbols downstairs that he was a Slytherin. I have no doubt he would already be exchanging precious little childhood anecdotes with me, if he were here."<p>

He heard her scoff.  
>"I doubt it" she snapped under her breath.<br>"What do you want to know?" she demanded a shade louder.

"What is your last name, for a start?" he asked thoughtfully.

There was a long pause.  
>The reluctance on the girl's part to reveal her family name was in and of itself thought provoking.<br>She was either _very_ well positioned.. or dirty blooded.  
>The atmosphere subtly suggested to him that it was more likely the latter.<p>

"Granger" she said quietly after a minute. Her tone seemed to dare him to remark on her oh so _muggle_ name.

He took _that_ dare also.

"Are you a half-blood?" he asked softly.

"No." she responded with icicles hanging from the syllable.

His eyes slid over to her again and looked her up and down.  
>A mudblood.<br>A _true_ mudblood. On his _bed._ He thought about how close he had come to _kissing_ her this morning. Last night he had touched her...  
>Repulsive.<br>He looked away again.

"Who is the current head boy and why exactly do you detest him?" he changed the subject. It would do no good to dwell further on her filthy blood.

"Are you sure you want to continue speaking with a _mudblood_?" she spat.  
>Had his expression been <em>that<em> transparent, he wondered.  
>Apparently so.<p>

"Not entirely" he responded lightly. "I am still deciding. The head boy?..."

She shifted slightly. He had the impression that she was considering marching out of his room in indignation.  
>She was rather..strident.. for a mudblood, he mused.<br>In his own time, all the mudbloods – and there had been _few_ – had been rather insipid cowed creatures.  
>Of course that may have stemmed from the near universal hate they faced within every house. Even the Hufflepuffs had been unwilling to entirely embrace them.<p>

Still... she was, at least according to Dumbledore, the top student in the school... The best mind of many decades..  
>Of course, it would probably amuse his former Professor to no end to see him befriend a mudblood. He had always shown great favouritism toward the sad little wretches.<br>Far more would it please the man if he were to actually become _involved_ with one intimately, he imagined.  
>Perhaps she was not the top student that Dumbledore had asserted.<p>

"Draco Malfoy" Hermione said coldly, derailing his train of thought slightly.  
>Abraxas flew to his mind. The current head boy was his descendant obviously.<br>If he could somehow meet with this Draco boy, then he could perhaps get a message to his old friend. Could perhaps reconnect with _someone_ who might provide support should things go bad in Dumbledore's captivity.

"As for my reasons for .._detesting_ him.. He sees the world in much the same way that you seem to. His first word to me began with Mud.  
>He is an absolute cockroach. A slimy little spoiled brat, whose father buys his way through life and who spends his entire existence insulting and cursing my friends and myself.<br>He was granted the Head boy position purely because Professor Dumbledore hoped to demonstrate to the school that Gryffindors and Slytherins.. and more importantly that ..._muggleborns_ and despicable pureblood supremists can coexist peacefully.  
>I think he hoped that we would suddenly find some basis for understanding and appreciating one another and the world would erupt into spontaneous peace and tea and biscuits would rain from the sky.<br>Professor Dumbledore's thought processes are sometimes a bit ..questionable...  
>Of course – what could be <em>more<em> unlikely than a friendship with _Draco?_ Oh.. let me think.. Perhaps a friendship with bloody _Tom Riddle?_ The man is insane. I have no idea what I am doing here! You are _far, ..far _slipperier than Draco Malfoy. Don't think that anyone is buying this 'poor little fourth year' act either! EVERYONE knows that you are a scheming, psychopathic snake and you only _proved _that last night"

He processed this rant quietly.

He was finding himself tempted to actually _converse _with the girl. She did have a certain.. fire.. Admittedly that crazed bluster was the reason that Gryffindors were so utterly repugnant – nevertheless she somehow managed to render it attractive.

It bothered him.

Perhaps she was not _truly_ a muggleborn. Perhaps..

He sighed. It was foolish wishful thinking. She was quite attractive. If she were a _halfblood_.. it would be tolerable... but a _muggleborn_? The idea was obscene.

"So we have discovered that we will not soon be bosom companions.." he responded wearily. "Did you truly wish to be? It has seemed that you have preferred to avoid me almost from the first moment."

She didn't reply.

"What exactly does your friend have against me then? Is he..muggleborn.. also?"

"No." she responded quietly. "Harry is ... I don't actually know. His father was a pureblood and his mother a muggleborn."

"Halfblood" Tom informed her softly. "His mother explains why he is so willing to befriend one of your status, I suppose"

At that the girl _did _leap to her feet. "You horrible little.. oooh.." He heard her fuming and struggling to restrain the furious insults boiling up within. He smiled inside. So easily provoked..  
>"I am <em>leaving<em> now, Tom." She snarled furiously. "I made an effort to speak to you.. It clearly does not agree with either of us. I will see what I can do about having someone else stay with you here."

A tiny twinge of irritation pricked him.  
>He was not certain he <em>wanted<em> someone else to stay with him.  
>It certainly made more sense to his long term goals if she remained. He had already placed her under a wand oath, defeated her wands and gained access to her wand – which was compatible enough to obey him.<br>Also... her hair smelled of peaches again today.

It took a barely-there wandless confundus and he was already rolling backward on the bed and pinning her down against the mattress. He had plucked her wand from her hand and used it to fix her in place before she blinked and began to rageand struggle.

"YOU ABSOLUTE LITTLE _CREEP!_ LET ME GO!"

He smirked down from his position, straddling her and twirled her wand between his fingers.

"I believe you _dared_ me to try to leap upon you. Oh... and.. it seems you _did_ lose your wand to me just as easily as last night. _More_ easily perhaps.. since, having drawn it, you really ought to have been able to defend yourself adequately this time."

Her face darkened to a near apoplectic red. "Get. Off." She growled threateningly.

He smiled and leaned down, parting his legs wider and allowing himself to subside down onto her languidly, folding his arms over her breasts and resting his chin on them. He tapped her wand against his arm.  
>"No.. I believe I am quite comfortable at present. Thank you" he responded quietly. She bared gritted teeth at him.<p>

"I don't think I wish you to _'see what you can do about having someone else stay with me'_.. in fact – I am at present actually leaning toward _forgiving_ your unfortunate blood status, purely in light of your rather amusing mannerisms and the enticing scent of your...quite unusual.. hair." He unfolded one arm and delved his fingers into the soft mad curls erupting all around her head. She flinched and looked suddenly quite frightened again.

"..._Please, _get off me, Tom?" she tried, hopefully. He smirked.

"_That_ is a far more pleasant tone" he informed her. "So much nicer than the ranting and screaming.. Perhaps you should use _that _voice from now on.. "

She nodded mutedly, her eyes kept flicking between his face and her wand.

"Now.. Tell me.. Why does your halfblood friend loathe me so?" He asked curiously. "I can imagine various reasons why your beau might dislike you living in close quarters with another boy.. however your-"

She interrupted him. "Ron isn't upset that I'm living with a _boy, _Tom. You're _fourteen!.._ Ron is upset that I'm living with a raving _psychopath_. And as it turns out – he's right! I should have listened to him and told Professor Dumbledore to go jump."

He prickled at the second reference to his age. She had called him a _little_ creep before. Now it seemed she was suggesting that he could not possibly constitute a legitimate competitor for her dullard of a boyfriend.  
>She thought of him as a <em>child.<em> She was not at _all_ interested.  
>The thought bothered him far more than he knew it should – particularly in light of the fact that, due to her revelation about her blood status, he would sooner mate with the giant squid than spill his seed within her unworthy vessel.. It should not have bothered him at all.<p>

"I am not..fourteen.. Hermione." He countered icily. "If anything.. I am far too _old_ for you. Sixty six, in fact. But let us not argue about sex when it is _so obviously_ a repulsive prospect for both of us – Your friend Harry. You were about to tell me about him.."

Her mouth snapped shut from the wide eyed gape she had been offering him.  
>"Everyone loathes you, Tom. Not just Harry. You are <em>universally <em>loathed. Your older.. that is _other_ self is a murderer, a fugitive, an _evil_ creature. The entire wizarding world wishes him dead."

He blinked.  
>Well.. It seemed that he <em>hadn't<em> succeeded quite as he'd hoped, after all.

"Oh.." he managed, trying to dismiss the disturbance that he _felt_ on his own features.

"Yes. It's that simple. What else do you want to know" the girl demanded impatiently. He felt a flare of anger at her flippancy.

He raised himself up slightly and narrowed his eyes at her.  
>"Manners, Mudblood... or my.. -<em>excuse me- YOUR<em> wand might slip.."

She grit her teeth and looked away.

"Name as many Slytherin students as you can" he demanded.

She huffed and remained silent. He turned her face back toward him with the tip of her wand.  
>"Hermione.. Our current position is entirely <em>your own<em> doing, you realise. I gave you ample opportunity to leave earlier. When you followed me, I offered you the chance _again. _Upon _your_ insistence, I invited you to sit with me and speak.. _It was you_ who could not control her temper..after threatening me when I sought only to reassure you.. You have escalated tension between us to the point that I had to _restrain_ you to prevent you from rushing off to the old goat and demanding to escape _my_ taxing companionship."

Her expression conveyed unmistakeably that she had a somewhat different take on events.

"You have.. deliberately sought to insult and provoke me.. and you are, at present, behaving appallingly. And yet I am _still_ showing you patience.."

He watched her take a deep breath. He was almost certain she was counting to ten. He stroked the wand point over her eyebrow.

"Slytherin students... We shall be going through all the houses – I would like to know who exactly has reproduced and where their offspring might currently reside. I am certain you cannot begrudge me my curiosity."

After a moment she said quietly "I'm not going to tell you anything about the other students, Tom. You are dangerous enough without directing your attention toward anyone else here. Incidentally you won't get out of these quarters.. and certainly not with _my_ wand. Don't you think that Dumbledore would have considered that?

He paused thoughtfully..

"I am not sure.. Yes.. I _would have_ imagined that he would place some form of block preventing me from using a wand at all. I can think of at least three spells that would achieve that result.. As it appears – he has not – and I have to conclude that he is also not _monitoring_ my wand use – or, surely, he would have arrived to tear me off you by now.  
>Unless.. he <em>is amenable<em> to my forcing you down on my bed at wandpoint...  
>Who can be sure?.. From what he said earlier, I gather that he is quite dismissive of your affections for the redhead. Perhaps he truly believes it would be more convenient if-"<p>

"FOURTEEN!" she snapped.  
>"YOU ARE <em>FOURTEEN. A CHILD<em>! I would be ARRESTED.. if I were at all interested in you. You are _underage_, Tom.  
>AND you are a bloody raving PSYCHOPATH!<p>

He smirked.  
>"I spoke of <em>the Headmaster's <em>erratic thought processes, not my own desires, Hermione. I suspect that the senile old romantic believes that allowing a mudblood into my bed might show me the error of my ways. I neither want to dirty myself on you, nor wish to perceive 'The error of my ways' as conceptualised by Albus Dumbledore. Perhaps you should-..."

There was a knocking.  
>It was not his bedroom door. He recognised the amplified knocking of the main door downstairs.<p>

He cursed under his breath.

The witch beneath him looked sublimely relieved. Clearly she was certain that whoever it might be – he'd have to release her.

Well... he'd see about that.

The knock at the door sounded again, somewhat louder and more insistent. Whoever it was, was not going to go away.

"You can't open the door to the chambers" she informed him smugly. "If you try, you'll only get a nasty shock and set off half a dozen alarms around the school. Let me go, Tom. Now!"

He glared down at her, tapping her wand on his thigh as he tried to think of a solution quickly – preferably one that didn't allow the prospect of the thrice damned girl rushing off and escaping.. possibly telling tales or simply insisting upon being removed from the quarters.

He smiled darkly..

"_Obedecer_" He intoned with satisfaction.


	8. Chapter 8

He smiled darkly..

"_Obedecer_" He intoned with satisfaction.

The brown eyes that were tight with tense and hopeful anticipation softened at once and lost a little of their vibrancy. Hermione smiled peacefully.  
>He looked down at her with a strange mix of satisfaction and disappointment. She had succumbed so easily..<p>

"I think you should answer the door" he reminded her as he slowly withdrew from her, tucking her wand into his pocket.  
>She beamed at him as if he'd just offered the solution to all her problems<br>"Oh yes! The door! I forgot!" she told him, climbing up off the bed and adjusting her skirt. She moved quite contentedly to the open doorway and descended the stairs.  
>He followed her at a few paces distance. This spell required constant line of sight, although thankfully <em>not<em> eye contact.  
>Tom positioned himself in the shadow of the door as she reached for it, looking entirely pleased and distracted by some other thought.<p>

She had no sooner parted the wood from the frame than the door was pushed in, shoving her back slightly. Tom kept his hand on the wand in his pocket, stepping out slightly, in order to maintain a visual link on the girl.  
>There was a tall slender boy shouldering his way into the room. He knew at once who it was by the unmistakeable shock of nearly white hair falling silkily to his shoulders.<p>

"Where is he, Granger?" the Malfoy descendent growled, closing the door behind him quickly. Hermione frowned slightly. "Where is who?" she asked, confused.

"Draco Malfoy, I take it" Tom spoke quietly from behind him, Hermione's wand trained on the boy.

The blonde whirled and his eyes nearly popped out.  
>"Merlin's fucking balls!" he spat.<p>

Tom shot him a disapproving look. Abraxas would never have expressed himself in such a coarse manner. It seemed that his associate's grandson was an ill mannered little cur – at least, he _assumed_ this was his grandson, unless he'd had children _very_ late in life – not the standard operating practice within Pure-blood society.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Hermione managed, obviously having difficulty making sense of events around her now. This spell was less useful than the imperius due to that very factor – unless the caster was attending to the victim fully and directing both actions and words, they tended to stand around looking foolish and confused. The imperius was more convenient. One could give the subject the vague suggestion of how they might like to behave and they would order themselves with respect to the spirit of that idea. On the other hand – it was impossible to remove the stain of unforgiveables from a wand, whereas this spell could be wiped away when he was finished.

Draco turned and inspected Hermione more closely, his face breaking into a wide beatific smile after a few seconds.  
>"Oh... beautiful! This is just beautiful. The mudblood Granger under a compulsion curse. You let him take your <em>wand<em>, didn't you, Granger.. Severus always said there was nothing in your head but useless books!"  
>The blonde turned back to him and appraised him with more care. There was something...distinctly familiarin the boy's expression. He could see the way Abraxas would look at any development to see where profit might lie.<br>...And .. there was something else.. Something he had felt before, in the infirmary when the tall dour 'Severus' had been in the room.. something he hadn't quite been able to understand. He probed at the strange..tingle... in the back of his mind upon seeing the Blonde. The boy shivered suddenly and then looked uncertain before the emotion was wiped from his lean sharp face.

"Do you know who I am?" Tom enquired,

The boy' eyes widened.  
>"...I... I have an idea.<br>...Are you _really_ .._Him_.. How are you here? You look-..." he didn't finish the sentence.

Tom rolled his eyes. "Yes. I am aware of my present appearance. I am older than I look. How did you learn I was here?" he asked him curiously.

The calculating look in the pale grey eyes didn't fade for a moment.  
>"The weasel. – that is – Ronald Weasley. I don't know if you know him. He was banging on in the corridor down from Charms about the mudblood being in danger. Pansy - <em>Pansy Parkinson<em>, heard him mention that 'she was all alone with _him _in the head's quarters – and who knew what _he _might do.'  
>Since she was <em>already<em> put out that I no longer had access to a private room, she took the time to listen. She said it was something in the _way_ he said it that made her curious.  
>Potty was trying to shut him up and then when the Weasel snapped and said something about Granger being 'shut up with 'you know who' – well.. she <em>ran<em> to come find me."

"...How can you be... _him._?" The silvery eyes narrowed as Draco tilted his head, seeming to try to see.. or to imagine.. something. Probably his older self, Tom presumed.

If the boy had rushed here in this manner then it was more than likely that the Malfoys were still among his closest allies.

"What the fuck happened? How are you _here_.._alive_.. if you ARE him? Why are they keeping you _here_?"

The boy cautiously moved closer, examining him with sharp eyes and that incredulous half sneer.  
>He was much taller than Tom. The tingling feeling in his mind that he'd been examining grew as Draco came nearer. It was really rather pleasant, he decided.<br>Nevertheless – until he determined what was causing it, it was probably unwise to get too close.

"I would prefer it if you would remain where you are" he stated quietly. Draco stopped where he was immediately.

"My father said..." the boy hesitated and then seemed to change tack completely, suspicious and uneasy.  
>"How can I be certain of who you are? I don't recognise you. Admittedly you have something..about you.. but you look like a third year. Tell me-..." he seemed to struggle for something to ask. "Do..something that-.."<p>

Tom sighed and flicked the wand in his hand casting Serpensortia. A long black viper was spat from his wandtip and landed on the floor between them both. Draco's eyes widened and he took a small step back.  
>Abraxas had done the same thing once. He had been quite...<em>uneasy<em>.. about snakes. Knowing that Tom mastered them had not ameliorated his fear in the slightest.

::Come to me:: he instructed the long black viper that was looking about and hissing agitatedly.

::Where am I?:: the snake demanded irritably before going on to berate him on the mouse it had just caught which would be stolen now.  
>He huffed impatiently. Typical. The one snake in the world who might backchat in this moment. He told it to come to him and it could return to its mouse. It obeyed then, slithering near and onto his arm when he half bent, extending it to it.<p>

Draco looked uncertain.. "Potter can do that too.." he said indecisively.

Tom's eyes sharpened. What? The boy who loathed him.. who, he realised, Hermione had _not_ told him anything about after all... That boy was a parselmouth? Was he his _son?_.. She had said he was the child of a pureblood and a mudblood. Unless she had lied..  
>He glanced at the confused witch standing wringing her hands anxiously and banished the snake once more<p>

"I want to know more about this _Harry Potter_.." he informed the blonde wizard. "Hermione.. was not particularly forthcoming about him.

Draco sneered. "No.. Well she wouldn't be, would she. They're practically joined at the hip. She'd hardly tell _you_ anything you might use against him."

Tom frowned. The way he said it, it seemed very much that this Harry Potter might be some kind of particular, rather than general enemy, in contrast to what the girl had suggested.

"Perhaps.. we might.. sit down and speak together..Draco.." he offered after moment. "I am certain that _you_could be far more informative than the witch has been.

The blonde gave a curt nod. "Oh... I think I can.." he smirked.

He began to direct Hermione toward the sofa, but, changing his mind, altered her course toward the stairs to his room. He did not feel comfortable sitting so close to the fire and speaking to this boy with whom he was no doubt forbidden to have contact. Should Dumbledore arrive through the Floo there would be no disguising things. In his room, in contrast, there was no floo. Draco might escape through the bathroom into Hermione's room and then downstairs and out of the chambers.  
>Draco seemed in the first instance unsettled at the direction he had gestured him in, but followed the witch up the stairs. When he reached the top, he looked about possessively. It was clear that this had been, until recently, <em>his<em> room. He strode to the bed and tossed himself down against the pillows.

Tom stared for a moment.  
>Beyond the impudence of it.. the gall of the bastard to invite himself to such a thing, it did not escape him the way the long lean limbs were aesthetically pleasing in their arrogant splayed carelessness.<br>He caught the regal lift of the blonde head as Draco brushed his silky curtain of hair from his eyes.  
>Not <em>as<em> attractive as the green-eyed Harry.. but definitely a finer figure than the boy's ancestor had cut.  
>He observed him thoughtfully as he made the witch sit down on the end of the bed, much as she had been earlier.<p>

Draco turned his nose up slightly. "Surely the vermin could sit on the floor. Don't tell me _you_ would be content to sleep in the bed after it's been defiled by her?"

Tom looked over at the curly haired witch.  
>She was still irritatingly attractive, he noted.<br>It was infuriating.  
>In principle he agreed entirely with the arrogant blonde.. however ...when he'd lay over her.. straddling her.. when he'd felt her soft breasts against his arms.. it had felt quite enticing.<p>

"Forget the witch. I'll scourgify the room later. _Harry Potter_. We may not have much time to speak. Tell me what I need to know, Draco" He moved forward to sit on the other end of the bed opposite the blonde, who watched him thoughtfully.

"Where do I even begin?.. What do you know about him?" he was asked.

Tom half shrugged.  
>"I know he despises me.. I think he might have tried to kill me when I first returned here, if it hadn't been for this witch." He gestured at Hermione in his peripheral vision. "I know.. nothing else about him really. Start from the beginning.. start from the most important point. Start <em>somewhere.<em>.. "

Draco took a breath. His silvery eyes drifted to the left and he sneered mildly at Hermione.  
>"Harry Potter...killed you.."<p>

Tom blinked. He hadn't ever considered that he might have been killed.. All comments he'd heard thusfar had indicated that he was somewhere out there.. older...possibly despised.

"When he was a baby there was some prophesy that he was going to kill you.. I don't know exactly what it said – My father never managed to get his hands on it for you – but Severus-.."  
>Tom's eyes sharpened. Severus was the tall dark dour man who had seemed overly wary of him. Severus was the other person who had awakened this strange feeling in the back of his mind.<br>"-..had heard part of it somehow.. he brought the news to you that there was a prophesy that some child would be born at a certain time with the power to kill you."

Severus was... his.._associate?  
><em>His _servant?  
>A traitor then? A spy? But for whom?<em>

Frowning, Tom queried "A child? How?"

Draco shrugged.  
>"Merlin only knows. But you obviously determined that you'd kill it first. You decided it was Potter and killed his parents and then tried to kill him-.."<p>

Tom understood suddenly where the cold hate filled expression in the Avada green eyes had come from.

"-Something went wrong. Instead of killing _him_.. the spell killed you. Or.. or.. _didn't_ kill you, obviously, since you came back.. but it did something. You vanished. There was no sign of you for more than a decade."

His horcruxes, Tom thought, relieved. Perhaps even his own imprisonment had assisted him to survive what might have otherwise killed him. It was.. almost.. worth it perhaps.

"Then.. when Potter came to Hogwarts.. there were some incidents.. It's hard to get information about it.. but something happened when we were all in first year. Something about you. Potter was in the infirmary.  
>Then..in second year..." Draco paused.<br>"My father.." he licked his lips slightly, uneasily. He had a pale pink pointed tongue. "My father.. had.. a certain.. _book_.. of yours.. When..he was unable to find any of the _other_ objects he was looking for..and since Aunt Bella was in Azkaban-"  
>Tom understood the meaning, although who aunt Bella was supposed to be or why she was important was entirely lost on him – Draco's father had had a book.. probably much like the diary horcrux he had been trying to make. Harry had mentioned that in the infirmary. He'd <em>recognised<em> the idea of him being trapped in a diary.  
>"- he didn't have any other option but to use the book you'd left him... to try to bring you back."<p>

Tom held his breath.

"It..failed." Draco finished, shifting his eyes away discomforted. "Potter destroyed it. He even gave it back to us afterward. There was a huge hole in it and it was bloodstained."

The shiver rippled through him beyond his control. That could have so easily been him. He wondered what it might be like to have been killed inside the diary. How would he have died?

"So..uh..some of your other servants arranged for a certain ritual. It was almost impossible to lay hands on Potter and he was needed for it somehow. _They_ succeeded in the end and.. and you came back..  
>That was..almost three years ago.. "<br>The look on the boy's face clearly displayed his reticence to tell something further about that.

"What else?.. what went wrong?" he guessed.

Silver eyes flicked to him. "Nothing.. or.. I don't know. Maybe nothing. You look.. ...different.. than you do now. That's all.  
>Potter has been fighting you ever since. You duelled in the ministry of magic – it was in the papers."<p>

Tom did not narrow his eyes at the boy.. he didn't show any sign at all of his discontent with the answer.  
>"Do you know where my other self is now?" he asked lightly.<p>

"No!" Draco responded immediately.  
>"No.. no one does. You don't allow anyone to know that.<p>

Turning his attention to Hermione, he tilted his head thoughtfully. Draco was withholding something important. He was in fact _not_ being as informative as he had seemed to promise to be. This was unacceptable.

He concentrated and silently directed Hermione to remove her blouse.  
>The shocked gasp from the blonde at the girl's actions convinced him that Draco was sufficiently distracted. He released the spell he'd been holding, a petrificus variant.<p>

Not even his eyes were capable of movement but Tom believed he could _sense_ Draco's panic on some level. It was almost a scent in the air.

He rose from the bed and moved closer, summoning the boy's wand. It was a slender polished black construction. It felt quite light in his hand. He swished it experimentally. It produced a weak spray of silver motes in the air. The wand was without a doubt darker than Hermione's.  
>Absently it occurred to him that he had forgotten to stop the girl from undressing. He turned and paused, transfixed by the sight of the pretty witch sitting placidly in a dark purple lacy brassiere. She had folded her blouse and laid it to the side. Her breasts were not overly large but seemed to be nicely formed... not that he'd seen a great many in person, he conceded.<br>He allowed himself to drink in the sight for a few seconds before reminding himself of the matter at hand.  
>"Put it back on, Hermione" he instructed, turning back to the frozen Malfoy.<p>

He wasn't entirely certain how well this next spell might fare. He hadn't had any opportunity to try it and while the texts had, in some instances, been quite detailed – allowing him to imagine the probable results – He was uncertain in casting it and concerned that he might not yet direct it well. He would need to practice in future. He glanced again pensively at the witch, buttoning her blouse up again. It would be useful to know more about her..and really – he had no other readily available options. She would suffice. He would try to find some time to practice on her, if he could.

Stepping closer still to Draco he registered that the tingle in his mind had spread to become almost a throbbing warmth. It seemed to be somehow connected to him..  
>Tom furrowed his brow. The sensation was..peculiar.<br>He transferred Hermione's wand to his other hand and moved until he was standing at the side of the bed, next to Draco before he dispelled the freezing charm. It was unnecessary to do so, and perhaps not entirely wise - after all the boy was safely incapacitated.. However for some reason he wanted to _see_ Draco's aristocratic features twist and react to what he would do next. It would have taken something away from the experience to forgo it.  
>Draco flinched away in panic. "What.. what are you-" he started.<p>

"Relax..." Tom soothed him quietly. "You understand.. I have to know what you know, Draco... I must _see_ for myself."

This caused still more panic. The boy's entire body stiffened as if he was preparing to leap away and run.  
>"No.. don't!.. Give me my wand back.. I'll <em>tell<em> you whatever you want to know.."

Tom looked back at him calmly, projecting the quiet conviction that fighting would be futile.  
>"This may be.. uncomfortable.. for you, if you try to resist. But.. I will try to be...gentle.."<br>He brushed aside the silky blonde hair from the boy's forehead with the tip of Draco's wand, making the boy shiver. Draco was shaking his head slightly, wide eyed and mouthed again 'No!'  
>Tom half smiled, tilting his head.<br>"You are.._quite attractive.._ when you are afraid, Draco." He trailed the point of the other wand up the other boy's white shirt. Draco's jaw dropped slightly and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. He recovered with difficulty and shook his head again. "Don't.. _please!" _ he moaned between gritted teeth.

"Legilimens" Tom intoned softly...

He hadn't been certain what to expect..and the sensation of flying forward at speed while the world blurred out around him came as a surprise.

He found himself drifting.. floating.. over a vast dark ocean. The water was almost black.. in the distance an orange sun hung low on the horizon. There was nothing but the quiet slapping of waves and a gentle breeze.  
>It was an aesthetically pleasing.. if featureless.. world.<p>

"Stop occluding.." he whispered, and was unsure whether his words were conveyed to Draco. Nothing in the environment changed at all.

He had read about this. Gorley had written half a book on the art of occlusion. As defences went – he had advocated rich and complex environments rather than featureless plains such as deserts, skies, _oceans_ – purely on the basis that increased depth could be used as a foil to trap the invading mind much like a maze, whereas a featureless plain was essentially the equivalent of a brick wall – its strength depended upon the strength of will of the occluding wizard, relative to the focus of the invader.  
>Tom applied himself to the 'brick wall' he'd been offered. Gorley's ideas on how best to defeat such constructions had been difficult to truly imagine. He had seemed to say, once or twice that the entire impression could be peeled away like a skin.. but then at other times he had suggested movement through the plane of the projection...and still other times, that a <em>hole<em> might be punched through the surface itself.

"Draco... what are you so concerned about hiding.." Tom murmured aloud.. "You claimed to be willing to provide me with information.. _you_ sought _me_ out..

He focused on the waves, imagining them as a curtain.. fine filliments.. It was not entirely easy to do so.. the environment was richly animated.. the waves seemed real.  
>Nevertheless – <em>he<em> certainly had a greater focus than Abraxas' uncouth descendent. He concentrated.. forcing his own impression to shift.. ignoring the information meeting his senses. The waves were a curtain.. a billowing waving curtain.  
>He parted it.<p>

He felt a sensation like thrashing.. it was disembodied and ..strangely exciting. Like a slippery fish underwater. The sensation of Draco's panic in _this_ place was delicious.

Black surrounded him for a time.. then, as if he had turned to look behind him, another facade slotted into place. This one appeared to be a garden. He recognised it. Malfoy Manor. He had visited this place before.  
>A <em>second<em> occluding layer.. Perhaps Abraxas' grandson was more capable than he appeared.

With detailed dimensional layers, Gorley had advised a different approach. There would be a core hidden somewhere within the illusion.. an anchor around which the entire world was built.  
>What would Draco choose as the most important piece of this world? Tom turned around in a slow circle.. Fountains.. strutting white peacocks in this distance.. ornamental rows of miniature fruit trees.. it was all..unimportant.<p>

"Draco... let me in" he cajoled. "you are beginning to try my patience"  
>It was a lie. He found this little challenge even more entertaining than dismantling Hermione's wards had been. He rather hoped that Draco would have <em>more<em> hidden up his sleeve.  
>On the other hand.. he couldn't afford to spend all <em>too <em>long in this state. If someone came and interrupted him.. he was vulnerable at present as focused as he was.

He closed.. whatever the equivalent of his eyes were.. and turned in a slow circle, feeling for 'brightness'.. feeling for conflux of energy.. Shutting out the environment he set off in the direction that seemed thickest.  
>From the tightening tension all around him he assumed that he was approaching the key and Draco was panicking again.<br>"Almost there.." he whispered to the boy. "Do you have any more to offer?"

He felt the substrate around him shudder for a moment and then the tightness thickened.. solidified.. became as tar.. holding him.. slowing him.  
>Laughing in delight he twisted in the hardening shell.<br>"Draco.. are you _trying_ to make yourself more attractive to me?..."  
>He probed the solid surface surrounding him and then<em> pushed.. <em>deforming it. He continued pushing until it dissipated, accompanied by a sense of the other boy's growing exhaustion.  
>Draco was not accustomed to sustained focus of this kind, apparently.<p>

"No.. don't give up.. Show me what else you have..  
>...Draco - When I am finished with your mind I'm going to explore the rest of you.." he taunted him, with the mental equivalent of a smirk.<p>

The resulting flash of fear and despair was sweet.

The entire texture of his surroundings shifted and folded and suddenly he found himself in the air. He could _see_ Draco... He was flying on a broom. There were others in the air. He recognised the Quidditch pitch. The stands were empty. This was some kind of training session obviously. It seemed Draco was the Slytherin seeker.  
>Tom watched as he pushed his broom on, faster, darting and twisting through the air after the tiny gold flicker. The lean sleek body and narrowed wilful eyes were more suited to motion than they had been to rest.<p>

But this was simply further occlusion.  
>This was not a useful memory – although it at least <em>was<em> a memory.

"Lord Voldemort" he prompted. The quidditch pitch shimmered for a moment and there was a sudden flash of cruel inhuman red eyes..with vertical pupils like a snake, before the blonde raced past on his broom after the snitch.  
>Tom hesitated uneasily..<br>Perhaps he would return to that _after_ he'd looked at his other primary interest.

"Harry Potter" he hissed into the boy's mind.

FLASH_  
>Draco extending his hand.. green eyes meeting grey.. a rejection. The green eyed boy moving away to stand next to a familiar looking red headed boy with narrowed blue eyes. Draco's Hurt..Resentment..Hate.<br>_FLASH_  
>A small green eyed boy with a dirty face in a crowded bookshop.. people flocking around him excitedly.. cameras.. Some foppish wizard pulling him over for a photo. Draco looks on dubiously from above. His irritation and resentment are stifling. He stalks downstairs. There is more than frustration.. a sense of purpose. His father wants him to do something... He delays and confronts the young Harry and then suddenly a man appears who can only be Draco's father. He dresses Draco down, to the latter's shame, and introduces himself to Harry. Lucius. His name is Lucius.. Draco is Abraxas grandson after all. <em>  
>FLASH<em><br>A view across the Great Hall.. Harry Potter as Tom had last seen him, staring into the distance pensively, ignoring the nudge from his friends and the conversation around him. He is..apart.. from all the others. Among them but not one of them.  
><em>FLASH_  
>A half naked form rocketing out of the Black lake and falling with a meaty thud onto a wooden platform, dripping, exhausted, gasping for air. Green eyes turn up, passing over silvery grey without pausing. Harry's younger body.. wet hair.. He is the hero again.. Draco's anger.. disappointment... relief.<br>_FLASH_  
>Another crash.. another sudden reappearance.. Bloodied..near unconscious.. gripping a large glowing trophy of some kind. Draco flicks away from this memory quickly<br>_FLASH_  
>Harry is sitting in an alcove of the stone bridge alone, looking out over the lake. His eyes are harder than they were.. closer to the boy that Tom met. Draco is nowhere in sight at first, but Tom locates him, disillusioned further down the bridge in another alcove. Abruptly Harry's face seems to crack and then he's burying his head in his hands and sobbing silently. His shoulders are wracked by the gasping silent roars of misery.<em>

Tom tried to rebalance himself.. The feelings were..intense.. almost as if he were feeling them himself.. Very hard to view objectively. This was all so different than he'd imagined.. Not at all like reading a book..  
>He tried to focus. What had he wanted to know? Not <em>everything<em> about Harry Potter.. Not random memories.. Certainly not what appeared to be Draco's reluctant sulky fascination with and admiration of him.

"Harry Potter is a parselmouth" he nudged the mind lightly.

FLASH  
><em>Standing in the DADA duelling room.. Harry and Draco are duelling.. Tom recognises the wizard behind Draco. Severus. He is wearing an expression of horror. The foppish looking man with golden hair and overly ornate cape that he saw in the memory of the bookshop is standing to the side looking alarmed. A young Harry is speaking to a cobra on the floor between Draco and himself.<br>::Don't panic.. Just.. stay there.. Don't move.. No.. ignore them.. Don't .. you're frightening them.. Come back. Please leave him alone::_  
><em>The snake is approaching a gormless looking student whose terrified suspicious gaze is darting between Harry and the snake. Draco's confusion is loud in his mind.. But also.. a dark eagerness. Draco is hoping that whatever Harry is saying will cause the student to be attacked by the snake. He is hoping that Harry might do something...other than act the perfect little noble Gryffindor..<br>_FLASH_  
>Harry is sitting in the library. Draco is in one of the Aisles pretending to read a book on Salazar Slytherin and watching him. Most of the students in the room are casting suspicious disapproving stares in Harry's direction. Draco is about to go over and provoke him but Harry gets up and gathers his books, leaving the Library. <em>

Tom mused on the memories. They didn't add anything to the question of _how_ Harry was able to speak Parseltongue. There had been a lot less response to the idea.. He gathered that Draco had not had a lot of opportunity to sample Harry speaking in Parseltongue.. although it seemed that he would have liked to gain more.  
>Tom wondered for a moment how it might have been for <em>him<em> if _his own_ ability had become widely known.  
>He had always hidden it. It was something.. personal.. something he didn't want to share. It had been almost the first thing that had made him realise that he was <em>different <em>to the other children in the orphanage.. that he was_ special.  
><em>It seemed that Harry had not done very well after it became common knowledge that he shared traits with the greatest of the founders.

"Tom Riddle" he murmured curiously against Draco's mind.

FLASH  
><em>The towering form of Lucius Malfoy bristling in anger.. and perhaps fear, Tom debated. Draco clutching his hand to his chest and looking up, shocked and hurt; on the desk lay a familiar looking diary.<br>"Do not touch what does not belong to you, Draco!" He strides forward and snatches up the diary, tucking it into an pocket inside his robes.  
>"Did you open it? Did you...write in it?"<br>Draco shakes his head urgently.  
>"No father.. I was simply curious.. I didn't touch it." He is lying. He did touch it.. he turned it over and read the gold embossed name on the back. He had been about to open it when his father's stinging hex slashed over the back of his hand.<br>"Go to your room! I do not wish to find you playing in my study again, Draco." _  
>FLASH<br>_A familiar diary with a gaping bloody hole in it lay on his father's desk. Draco looked around surreptitiously before he left the room again.  
><em>FLASH  
><em>"Our Lord will return, Draco. You shall see. Very soon now he will be among us again. Never forget!" Lucius' proud satisfied face.<br>_FLASH  
><em>Sitting in the large Manor library – Draco reading a text on potions. Lucius, sitting in a chair nearer the fire looking over with a thoughtful distant expression.<br>"Do you recall the book you found once in my study, Draco? The one I punished you for touching?..." Draco glances over with interest. _

This was a frustrating means of acquiring information, Tom decided. It took too long. There was too much to know.. how could he find the things he needed amongst so much distraction?

"Lord Voldemort!" he demanded again.

FLASH  
><em>Red eyes. Terror. Draco is terrified. He is thinking that he is in over his head.. he does not want to be here.<br>An inhuman gestalt – white and towering and slender – his face looks snakelike. The creature is standing on a raised level, several stairs above..looking down. Draco is kneeling, unsure, afraid. All around.. figures in black cloaks.. ominous white masks covering their faces.  
>"My Lord, Please will you h..honour me.. with your mark?" Draco hisses between his teeth. He does not want whatever he is asking for.. This mark. The snakelike figure knows it too.<em>

Oh Merlin.. it couldn't be! Tom pulled back out of the memory in horror. That could _not_ be true. That ..thing... wasn't _him_.. it wasn't _Lord Voldemort._  
>Draco had said that he looked different now..<br>It couldn't be _him_, though. That ...it wasn't even _human!_.. How? How did that happen?  
>The merciless malevolence in the alien red eyes...<br>With difficulty he struggled to call up the same memory again – watching it again in greater detail. When Draco pulled back his sleeve and the looming terrifying presence approached him.. stood _over_ him..pressed an unmistakeably _familiar_ wand to the boy's arm.. Tom thought he might be ill.  
>Draco's agony was bright and searing.. The cruel enjoyment on the monstrous serpentine face undeniable.<br>And.. somehow.. also _his.. _He had seen that same dark satisfaction on his own face before.. This was a twisted caricature of it.

This WAS what he has become. This _WAS_ his other self.

Tom found he had no further appetite for this. He didn't wish to _learn_ any more at present. With only momentary disorientation he withdrew from the other boy's mind.

The room settled back into place around him after a few seconds. Draco was lying on the bed with his eyes closed, panting. In another state of mind, Tom acknowledged that he might have found it..arousing... However at present..

He needed to think.

Originally, when he had realised that the blonde was in some form of contact with his other self, he had thought to send a message – perhaps warn himself that he was here.. or request assistance.. But in light of what he had seen, he wondered if he shouldn't think more carefully about that idea.  
>It could not be ignored that his other self had willingly sentenced him to decades of torment. Who was to say that he would not take it in his head now to use him in some ritual to reclaim his former appearance – assuming, that is, that his current appearance was not intentional – something which Tom could not even venture to assume. It was possible he'd done it on purpose.<p>

"I need to borrow your wand" he told the blonde, causing the grey eyes to snap open in dismay.

"You can't! I need it!" Draco blurted, alarmed.

Tom half sighed. "I need it more. It will come to no harm. I am certain that you have some kind of replacement wand. A Malfoy is never unprepared..correct?"  
>Draco's face turned down in a miserable grimace.<br>"How long? If you get caught with it – they'll expel me, you know! Or worse.."

Tom reached out and, ignoring the sharp flinch from the other boy, brushed aside his hair again.  
>"I want you to visit me again tomorrow night, Draco" he said quietly. Silvery eyes flicked to his own and then away again.<p>

"I have-..

"I don't care what other plans you might have had. I wish to see you again tomorrow night" he clarified in a reasonable tone.

"Should I ..  
><em>May<em>I.. send word to my father about you?" Draco ground out between his teeth.

Tom paused.  
>"Not yet."<p>

Draco shifted uneasily, trying to pull himself up on the bed. Tom placed his hand on the older boy's chest to arrest the evasive movement.  
>He was warm under the white pressed shirt.<br>The touch stopped him in place and he looked up with another sharp alarmed expression, yet he made no move to push Tom's hand away.  
>"What...what do you want from me, then?" he demanded.<p>

"Don't you _know_, Draco?" Tom asked with a very small smirk. "You seem..intelligent enough.. The expression on your face certainly _suggests_ that you understand my interest.."

The blonde paled further, looking uncertain.  
>"But-.." he began, seeking to protest.<p>

Tom waved the word away dismissively and allowed himself the slow exploration of the front of the other boy's body.. his fingers slid down the white shirt, catching on a button here or there. He could feel the hard warm corrugations of the lean muscle below.  
>If Harry was his sworn enemy.. his <em>murderer<em>.. then it was unlikely that he would be amenable to showing Tom the physical pleasures that he had forgone in his empty world... Draco.. on the other hand. Draco was quite attractive also and, it seemed, far easier to access. Draco would be perfectly suited to his experimentation.

Draco swallowed thickly and then seemed to glance at Hermione briefly before his silvery gaze returned to Tom's face, now populated with some variant of unhappy resignation.  
>"I.. If you want..<em>that..<em>. M-my Lord. How can I refuse?"

Tom found his heart give a little happy quiver at the two glorious words he had never had the opportunity to hear fall from another's lips. It was fitting that they should come first from this boy.  
>He flicked Draco's wand lightly and the buttons on the crisp white shirt began to twist themselves one by one through their holes. Draco, obviously steeling himself, lay back down again and allowed it to happen without protest. Tom smiled wider.<p>

"Does... _she_ have to be here?" Draco asked with a plaintive expression after a moment.  
>Tom glanced over at the girl sitting entirely unruffled on the end of the bed.<br>He had quite forgotten about her.  
>No.. she didn't have to be here.. and he might lose track of the spell holding her if he became too distracted by the other boy. He strengthened it now, watching as her face became just a little duller.. more mindless. He ordered her to stand and then marched her into her own room, instructing her to prepare for bed.<br>Once again he watched thoughtfully as she undressed, irritated at himself for being capable of finding a mudblood attractive.  
>He sighed when she slipped the thin white cotton nightgown over her lovely naked form and, glancing behind, took two steps closer and ran his fingertips down the sides of her body over the gown. That was all. No more. It was bad enough that he'd allowed himself that. He had her slip into bed and then stupefied her without ceremony, placing her wand in her loose fingers. No doubt she would move to clench it later.<p>

Returning to his own room he found that Draco had continued in the spirit of what he had demanded of him. He had removed his shirt.. shoes, socks.. He was standing beside the bed, unbuttoning his black trousers.

Tom paused in the doorway, fascinated.  
>The other boy was larger than himself. Probably physically stronger.<br>The submission and unhappy acceptance on his face was both satisfying and unsatisfying at once however.  
>He wanted to be <em>desired.<em>  
>After the way the mudblood had <em>sneered<em> as she reminded him over and over that he was a _child.._ he wanted a partner who looked upon him with lust.  
>Was it simply his body? If he were but a few years older, would Draco now be looking upon him with eager anticipation?<br>Perhaps the Malfoy heir was not naturally inclined toward those of the male persuasion at all.

He moved closer, while the other boy slowly lowered his fly and slipped the trousers off, baring black underwear like small clinging shorts before he slid those too down, letting them drop to the floor uncaring.  
>Tom tilted his head slightly. Draco was <em>large..<em>but not _hard_.  
><em>Tom himself<em> was growing hard, however._  
><em>Perhaps.. it was sufficient.. this one time.. to make use of Draco without mutual pleasure.  
>Or perhaps.. perhaps he could persuade him..to feel attraction.<p>

A black stain on the pale arm caught his eye.  
>The mark.<br>He had seen the boy .. he had _felt_ the boy take it. But he had not seen the finished result.  
>Draco stood calmly as he approached him. His expression was very nearly wiped clean. Only the barest discomfort remained at the corners of his eyes and mouth.<p>

"Show me your mark" he commanded softly, when he was close.  
>The boy was more than a head taller than him. It was disconcerting.<p>

Draco offered his arm unhesitatingly. When Tom gripped it and turned it to better advantage in the light, Draco shivered.  
>Examining the image, it appeared to depict a snake issuing forth from the mouth of a skull. The serpent then twisted into a figure 8. The symbolism of infinity was not lost upon him.. he wondered what had possessed him to use a skull, however. Had it been something as simple as the wish to make the mark intimidating and masculine? Was there some other meaning he did not yet understand?<br>Curious, Tom brushed his hand through the air a few inches above the black image. He could.._feel_ the heat of the mark through the air against the palm of his hand. The hot throbbing in his mind had escalated to the point where it was almost hypnotic. Without really thinking about what he was doing he lowered his hand and stroked along the flesh of the tattoo.

It was as if he had gripped a hot slippery eel somehow. The sensation in his mind changed at once and he felt something _flare_.. in him. Draco had gasped and was arching his back, gripping his upper arm as if to prevent himself from tearing it away from him.  
>And then Tom felt an answering flare against his hand. The mark was heating.<br>Draco whimpered very quietly and his eyes widened, flicking away.  
>"I.. you've called him... I have to go to him now... He'll... he'll punish me if I ignore the call."<p>

Tom frowned. No. Draco had to go nowhere. He was not releasing him yet.  
>He attended to the mark again. If his other self could use it then surely there must be some way for him to...turn it off.. or something..<br>He trailed a fingertip down the image, ignoring the pained shiver of the other boy as he pulled and tugged at the feeling in the back of his mind.. the intangible throbbing that had erupted into a blare of energy.. he needed to still it to that dull throbbing again.

Eventually he managed it. It flared again a moment later as if in reaction and he did the same thing once again. After two more attempts the thing was quiescent once more  
>Draco calmed only barely however.<br>"It doesn't matter if it doesn't hurt now... he _knows._.. He knows..something's happened. I'll still have to go to him..to _you. The other you."_

Tom frowned.  
>Yes. It was too late to pretend now. He would <em>have<em> to take up contact with the vicious-seeming creature that he had apparently become.  
>But not now.<p>

"Lie down" he instructed quietly.

Draco seemed unsure whether this was more or less terrible than having to go and see Lord Voldemort. Tom had no doubt that this Pansy Parkinson girl who had told him of what she'd heard would be much hated for having brought about this night.  
>Nevertheless the boy retreated backward, gently reclaiming his arm and lowered himself to first sit.. and then.. hesitantly, to recline on the bed.<p>

He was very pretty, Tom thought.

"Have you ever...done anything of this sort before?" he enquired softly. Draco's mouth tightened and he nodded once. Tom felt incongruous relief. He didn't want to _possess_ Draco.. merely to use him..  
>"Good." He told him, and started on his own buttons.<p>

When he had reached the point of removing his trousers, Draco spoke, uncertainly.  
>"How...is it .. that you're so <em>young?<em> Where did you come from..."

Tom glanced up and smiled fleetingly.  
>"Another book... much like the one your father possessed. This was the physical age I entered it. I am <em>not<em> fourteen, Draco. If the word _child_ falls from your lips at any point.. I will sew them shut."

The other boy swallowed and nodded.  
>"Hadn't..crossed my mind" he lied.<p>

Tom pushed down his trousers, and underwear with them. His cock was at half mast. It had flagged somewhat at the thought that this boy might, like Hermione, consider him a child.. might be repulsed at the thought of touching him. He ignored the worry and moved to climb onto the bed and straddle the larger boy.  
>The sensation of so much warm silky skin against his own most sensitive areas.. smooth against his thighs.. against his balls.. was wonderous He revelled in it.<p>

"You may touch me" he prompted quietly.

Draco hesitated and then lifted his hands gingerly and traced his fingertips up Tom's thighs either side of his own hips.  
>Tom shivered at the sensation for which he had thusfar <em>no<em> parallel. No one had ever touched him there before.  
>He leaned forward over Draco and stroked a hand over the warm planes of his chest. He felt..<em>good.<em> It felt fantastic to _touch_ him like this..  
>The fingers that had slid up his thighs were tracing up his sides slowly, as if Draco were tentatively exploring him, in much the same way as he was examining the body beneath him.<p>

Curious, he leaned low and licked the centre of the boy's pale chest. Trailing his tongue up between the understated pectoral muscles. He felt Draco shiver in response and the large hands slid around to skate up his back.  
>He looked up at the surprised grey eyes, from his position crouching low against him and then moved to the right, till he could circle the boy's nipple with the tip of his tongue. Draco <em>blinked<em>.. and his lips parted a bare centimetre.  
>Tom wondered what he had imagined. Did he think that he was to be tortured?<br>He dipped lower till he could suck the tiny hardening bud gently. He heard Draco gasp softly and felt, below him, a faint twitch at the boy's groin. It seemed that Draco might be animated to enjoy this after all.

Nibbling the hard little nub he scratched his fingernails lightly down the other side of Draco's body, over his ribs. This caused a further, larger twitch below him and he began to find himself seated upon something hard. He released the nipple and kissed his way over to the other.. sucking and then nipping it more sharply, causing Draco to flinch lightly and grip him more enthusiastically with the hands that were tracing over his back.

He wasn't certain whether he wanted to kiss Draco..

Compromising for his mouth's apparent wish to be occupied on the pale flesh, while he made up his mind, he stretched himself higher, bringing his face nearer the other boy's.  
>The visibly shocked and perhaps even slightly pleasantly surprised, expression was gratifying. He nuzzled at Draco's chin and nudged his face lightly to the side to gain access to his slender throat. It was bared without struggle and he adjusted his own position until he could comfortably lie along Draco's length and bury his face in it.<br>He smelled of warm masculine skin.. and a faint..delicate cologne. It was enticing. He tasted..sweet... smooth..

When Tom licked a slick path up the straining tendon, he caught another soft gasp from Draco and the boy shifted beneath him, embracing him cautiously and pressing him harder against his own body.  
>He rewarded it with a trail of little teasing nibbles before stroking a hand under Draco's cheek and turning him to face the other direction that he might reach the other side of his neck too.<br>Draco was breathing faster, it seemed and his eyes were almost closed, grey orbs barely visible through his lashes.

Tom decided.  
>He <em>did <em>want to kiss him.. Why give his first kiss to a mudblood..when a Malfoy apparently wanted him? It would be better..

He moved up once again and leaned in close, brushing his lips lightly against the other boy's.. not kissing him.. simply experimenting with the sensation.  
>It tickled. He licked his lips. Then he licked <em>Draco's<em> lips..  
>The low groan that the boy made went straight to Tom's groin and then Draco had gripped him hard and crushed their lips together, forcing his tongue into his mouth. Tom reacted instinctively through the shock, accepting the tongue and widening his own mouth, imitating the gesture.<br>It was the most mindlessly arousing sensation he had ever experienced.  
>The boy's tongue was hot.. slippery.. rough.. slick.. moving and delving and Tom <em>loved<em> it.. He ground himself against the hard abdomen below.  
>One of Draco's hands slid down his back and hesitated over the curve of his arse. Tom was distracted by the mouth.. the tongue.. he didn't react until he felt the fingertip brush over him in a rather.. intimate.. place.<p>

No. He would not be bottoming to this or any other boy! Not even if he was currently physically smaller!  
>He pulled back from the kiss and shot a fierce glare at the silvery dilated gaze.<br>Draco seemed to subside in mild pout and his hand moved away to grip the curve of Tom's arse as he leaned up, seeking his lips once again.  
>Satisfied with this, Tom moved back to tangle their tongues some more languidly.<p>

When Draco broke off the kiss again and started to press soft sucking nibbles to his jaw and then his neck, he thought he might literally purr with pleasure any second. It was a struggle to control himself, to keep himself from clenching at the large body.  
>He was in this state of abject lust when the other boy carefully rolled them both on the bed till he was above him. Tom felt he should be rectifying the situation.. taking control back.. but then Draco was doing something wonderful to his neck while his fingers were moving over his body, stroking his skin.. plucking gently at his nipples..sliding lower..<p>

He bucked helplessly when the large hand settled over his cock. Draco was able to enfold most of it in his large hand. Swallowing, he allowed it. His body was screaming that to make that sensation stop now would be utterly and completely WRONG. It NEEDED to continue..  
>He moved helplessly as he was manipulated into a quiet frenzy, feeling his own breath short. Draco squeezed him and stroked a few more times and then..shamefully.. he found he couldn't stop the bliss that rushed through him. He exploded in the other boy's hand, crying out softly against the lips that suddenly pressed to his own in a quiet smirk while Draco pumped him lightly, milking the last spurts from his cock.<p>

In the aftermath he was mortified. He had come almost immediately.. he hadn't had the chance to do any of the things he'd wanted to do. Draco had seen how inexperienced he was!

Confirming this, the blonde whispered against his ear with a voice faintly dipped in arrogance "That was your first time.. wasn't it?"

He barely prevented himself from huffing angrily. It would be a childish reaction. Instead he collected himself and kissed the side of the smooth face, his arms loosely around the other boy's body.  
>"Yes... "<br>To his surprise the blonde nuzzled against him and then moved to kiss him again, more gently.  
>"I'm sorry.." he murmured against the corner of his mouth afterward. "If I'd have known.. maybe I'd have..<p>

He shook his head. It didn't matter.. It was done and he'd enjoyed it greatly.  
>" I have been... <em>imprisoned<em>..since I was _truly_ fourteen years old." He offered, knowing he was giving away vulnerabilities to someone who would know to make use of them.  
>"I..hadn't...considered this sort of thing important before it was no longer possible."<p>

Draco seemed to sigh slightly.  
>"You know.. you're not at all..as I'd have expected.."<p>

Tom thought again of the cruel red gaze and supposed that that might be the best compliment he might hope for from the boy.

When Draco started to kiss him again cautiously, Tom hesitated and then responded, uncertainly.  
>He still wanted him? He remembered that Draco himself had not yet come.. possibly he was still hoping to do so.<br>Not principally opposed to this, he allowed himself to be pulled back into the cloying drug of the other boy's lips, finding it was even easier to lose himself this time.  
>But this time, Draco didn't remain there, this time he started to kiss his way down Tom's body slowly.<p>

It was, Tom learned, amazing.. to feel lips around his own nipple. It felt.. it felt... his mind wasn't working properly to dissect the sensation. Draco's hands were moving over him again, pulling his thighs gently.. coercing him to spread his body. The small prickle of _fear_ he'd felt when the other boy's fingertip had earlier ghosted over the entrance to his arse returned, warning him against such acquiescence, but he suppressed it for the moment, allowing the liberties Draco was taking.

Merlin.. the feeling of the tongue licking down his abdomen. He was hard again and hoping that the blonde's ultimate destination was his member and not.. somewhat lower.  
>When Draco started to lick up the faint sticky rests of his climax, with no apparent distaste at all, Tom could not, by best will, prevent himself from moaning and gripping the blonde hair, urging him on. He couldn't be sure but he thought he heart a soft snort from the boy. It sounded amused.<br>Then all thought ceased because Draco had without warning sucked his entire length into his mouth and the delicious pull, the burning hot wet amazing suction, was too much to feel and think at the same time.  
>He groaned and bucked, pulling ineffectually at the other boy's head which resolutely refused to be dragged or adjusted in any way, but simply drove him mad with long slow sucks all the way down to his root. He cried out when the slippery tongue slid out and swiped over his balls. <em>This<em> was the best thing he had ever felt. He wanted to _live_ in Draco's mouth.

Draco pulled away as he was nearing his climax again. Tom groaned in disappointment. "Don't stop!"

"I want you" Draco growled low and licked his shaft again. Tom shuddered in need.  
>"No.. Just.. this.." he managed.<br>Draco suckled on the head of his member again and then pulled back once more.  
>"You'll enjoy it.." he cajoled.<p>

No. Tom didn't want that.. He didn't want to give up that much control to the blonde, even if what he was doing felt very good..  
>"No.. " he insisted. "Suck me again.."<p>

Draco obliged and easily drove him to the edge of reason, till he was making little animal sounds helplessly, transfixed in the reeling of his own mind and the delight of the other boy's mouth.

"Please" Draco ground out. "I'll make it good."

Tom whined in frustration, trying to piece together his mind. What did the boy want!  
>"No, Draco. Stop asking. Let me come.." he mumbled, his head tossed.<p>

Ignoring this command Draco took Tom's tight balls in his mouth, cradling them on his tongue and drooling down over them, letting the warm saliva drizzle down below. Tom gasped and sighed.  
>When the boy nudged him even wider and his tongue started to explore further down, it was a strange dangerous feeling that gripped him. A pleasure thickly striped with risk and fear. He wanted to struggle away but a slick hand suddenly took up his straining organ again and teased it slowly, carefully. It was so hard to resist.<br>He felt Draco's tongue slide through the crease of his arse.. slick over his entrance. He moaned and jerked away but Draco followed him and set to tracing circles around his rosette with the slippery muscle.

It _did_ feel good.. it felt _so_ good.. especially with that hand.. moving...stroking.. he knew he should stop him.. he needed to stop it now.. But at that moment Draco's tongue delved into him, squirming past his resistance.  
>He emitted a rather undignified squeak and arched his back helplessly. Draco's tongue moved slowly in and out, a reminder of the act that the older boy wished to engage in.<p>

God. Merlin. Fuck. Someone... he couldn't help moving against it, pressing himself into it. No.. he had to stop...

Draco's hand squeezed him again.. stimulating him to the edge of distraction and then something else that was _hard_ stroked at the circle of muscle around which the entire world seemed to be revolving right now.  
>For a moment his mazed mind panicked before he realised the anatomical impossibility of Draco's tongue <em>and<em> his groin touching his arse at the same time.  
>It was a finger.<br>the panic in his mind ramped up several notches. Draco hadn't penetrated him with it yet.. He was ...teasing him..  
>"Stop.." he moaned, quite unable to move himself to act against what was happening.<br>Draco responded only by redoubling the efforts of his tongue and hand. He started to suckle on the muscle of Tom's arse. He was.. nibbling.. it was.. too good. Tom couldn't persuade his body to move away..  
>Just a bit longer.. then he'd stop him..<p>

Draco's mouth slipped away for only a second or two and Tom groaned in disappointment.  
>Then the finger was back.. probing at him. Around it, Draco's tongue flickered, slicking him further, tickling and probing.<br>When the finger slipped past the tongue and he felt it actually start to penetrate him, he did jerk and try to move away. The hand on his shaft sped slightly, tightening, holding him in place as if it were a handle.  
>Tom whined and wound his pelvis, trying to eject the finger that was slowly moving in and out.<br>"Stop, Draco.." he breathed, to no discernible effect.

"Shhh... just.. _feel_" Draco purred against his balls before he started to lick and wet them again, sucking them into his mouth.  
>The overstimulation was exquisite. The finger moving in him didn't feel such an intrusion with the hand pumping him and his balls in Draco's mouth. He shifted and moved helplessly, rocking his hips.<p>

The _second_ finger however.. changed that. It _hurt!_.. He yelped and tried to close his legs as it slowly wormed its way in next to the first.

He would stop him.. He would throw him across the bloody room in a second and then he would curse him bloody. Damn opportunistic Malfoy.  
>It would be so disappointing though, not to come.. Why couldn't Draco have just sucked him.. instead of <em>ruining<em> it..  
>And then the hand guided him back into Draco's mouth and he sighed in relief. thrusting lightly even as part of his mind protested and reminded him of how he needed to be tossing Draco across the room now.<br>The fingers in his arse moved slightly faster in time with Draco's sucking.. it felt like they were twisting and moving in him slickly, The sensations were... it was.. it was.._good... _He didn't want it to be.. But it felt good..  
>There was a pinching feeling as Draco seemed to part his fingers, but even that.. coupled with the tongue feathering up and down the length of his shaft... he moaned and rocked his hips faster..<p>

"My cock.. will feel.._better_.. than this.." Draco murmured, pulling away from sucking him for only a moment.  
>Tom shook his head blindly and reached for the other boy's head, trying to pull him down on him again, trying to reach the point where he could come..<p>

He cried out when Draco forced a third finger into his arse, pushing them more roughly now, twisting and splaying them against his tightness.  
>"I want to.. I.. I'm <em>going to<em> have you.." Draco growled before he managed to swallow Tom's entire member and fit his balls in too.  
>Tom yelped and held the other boy's head, trying to thrust up into his mouth, but Draco was sucking him in place, not moving up and down. The feeling was one of hot wet tension and need.. it didn't bring him closer to the point he desperately craved now.<p>

"NO!" he hissed between his teeth. "Finish me.." he demanded.

In response Draco sucked up his length and withdrew completely, even the fingers moving inside him slid away. Then the larger boy was crawling up the length of Tom's body.  
>He blinked up at him in horror. Draco was nudging his thighs wider with his own knees and leaning down over him.<p>

"Yes.." he growled and dropped down to roughly kiss him. "I'll.. finish you.." he murmured between hard sucking kisses. "I..want you.." he gritted out..

Tom felt his slick aching organ brush ineffectually against Draco's rock hard one bobbing above tightly. It didn't relieve him. His flaring panic grew.  
>Draco was moving above him as he kissed him, ...sliding.. ..slotting himself into place. His body felt <em>much<em> larger than Tom's own suddenly. He felt large hands slide down the outside of his thighs, gripping him, pulling him up and guiding him to wrap himself around the other boy's hips.

"Let me.." Draco groaned against his neck. "You'll like it.. I'll be careful..."  
>He felt a large hot mass prod at his arse lightly. Draco didn't wait for permission before he started to press forward. Tom clenched his eyes at the sudden <em>pain<em>..the invasion caused. Draco had already forced his head into him and apparently had no intention of stopping.

"I SAID NO! he yelled and flexed his wandless magic, flinging the boy away. He heard a cry of pain and a loud thud from the other side of the room as Draco crashed to the floor.

Tom sat up, wincing at the unfamiliar pain in his arse and glared at the blond, crumpled on the floor looking dazed.  
>The grey eyes flicked up at him in stunned terror. Obviously Draco had not realised that he mastered wandless magic. He had clearly thought that since Tom was not holding a wand, <em>he<em> would be the stronger.  
>And now.. it was plain to see the fear of imminent punishment dawning in the wide silver gaze.<p>

"Get out." Tom spat at him, wandlessly flinging his clothes toward him.  
>"Return when you have spoken with my other self"<p>

This instruction bleached the boy whiter than bone suddenly. Tom smirked darkly at the thought of what he might do to him if.._when _he learned what the idiotic boy had tried to do.  
>He frowned slightly, hesitating. If he sent the would-be-rapist to himself with the knowledge of what he'd done, it was possible that he might not return at all.<br>That would be counterproductive.  
>He did not know how many other marked individuals he might have in Hogwarts to use as messengers.<br>Still.. Draco would deserve it.

"I'm.. i'm sorry!" Draco was stuttering, climbing to his feet gingerly. "I.. shouldn't have.. But you were.. so.. so.."

Tom dismissed the panic filled apology with a wave.

"Dress. Leave. I will see you when you have a message for me from him."  
>He got off the bed and reached for his own trousers, dragging them on sans underwear and glaring in infuriated frustration at the blonde who was pulling on his clothes as quickly as humanly possible.<br>Assisting him to get the fuck out of his quarters even more quickly, Tom used his wand to cast the reverse divesto.  
>Draco was dressed again in seconds. He threw a wide eyed regretful glance back at him before he fled.<p>

In the stillness of the room Tom cursed soundly.

Trust damned Abraxas' seed to ruin what was _almost_ an eminently satisfying experience, by being greedy and demanding.  
>That was very nearly <em>mandatory<em> of all Malfoys. He should probably have expected it..  
>Still.. it was-..<p>

He admitted it to himself.

He was _disappointed. _..He felt..regret. He should have sent the boy away after he'd sampled his memories. Now he was left with a sour little taste inside.  
>And a sore arse.<p>

He healed _that_ first and looked behind him at the disarrayed covers on the bed from their movements.  
>Disappointing. Unsatisfying..<p>

He felt ...  
>it was a strange cold empty feeling.. He hadn't felt it in so long.. he wasn't sure what it was exactly.<p>

The thought bothered him while he went about finding a suitable hiding place for Draco's wand.

It played on his mind as he let himself into the bathroom and took a hot shower.

It was still irritating him when he walked idly into Hermione's room with his towel slung about his waist.

Almost without thinking, he pulled back the covers of her bed and slipped in beside her, easing up against her and wrapping his arms around her sleeping body – at least he pretended to himself that it was merely sleeping and not stupefied into stillness.

The feeling didn't go away.. but it felt slightly better.

He buried his face against the small firm breasts of the older girl and inhaled her soft peach scent – which somehow refused to betray any faint hint of mud or uncleanness to his senses.  
>It felt a little better to be close to her, than it had to be alone in his room.<br>He would leave before she woke, he decided. He would only stay a short while and enjoy her warmth..

He must have slept.

His mind tried to piece reality together again. There was ..a _loud_.. high pitched.. voice.. calling him a worm.. a disgusting _little_ worm.. It sounded _furious._  
>He couldn't move.<br>There was a wand at his throat.

He opened his eyes.

Beautiful..

The girl's eyes were bright and flaring with rage. She was sitting up in bed next to him looking like the wrath of the gods. Her soft brown hair was loose and bed-tousled around her face  
>She was so much prettier when she wasn't under a compulsion curse, he thought to himself, admiring her.<br>The wand at his throat dug in deeper.

"WHAT do you think you're bloody doing here?" she demanded. "NAKED! In my BED! _HOW_ did you get in here?"  
>The brown eyes flashed with sudden vague memory and then brightened even more in fury. "WHAT DID YOU CAST ON ME? WHAT DID YOU DO?"<p>

The wand moved away for only a moment as she cast Priori Incantatum before it was pressed against his artery even harder.

"I _know_ that curse" she growled threateningly. "Tell me.. _exactly_.. what you did.. or I swear to God – I'm going to call Harry and _encourage_ him to bloody finish you off!"


End file.
